


Healing Process

by Rainne



Series: How Steve Rogers Got His Groove Back [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: (probably), But who doesn't?, Darcy Feels, F/M, I have all these feelings, I really don't know what I'm doing here, Odin's A+ Parenting, PTSD Steve, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve is Not a Virgin, Thor Is Not Stupid, awkward baby relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from Texas, Steve and Darcy awkwardly begin to navigate the early phase of their relationship.  All of their friends, of course, think it's adorable.  Also, Darcy has a stompy foot and is not afraid to use it.</p><p>Rated for adult language used by adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did not expect to be posting this quite so soon, but when the muse strikes, she doesn't play around (seriously, she has an axe, someone please help me).
> 
> Much credit goes, once again, to my intrepid first readers, [Secondalto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/secondalto) and [Citymusings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/citymusings). Without them, this story would probably suck.

In her line of work, Pepper Potts had to deal with a remarkable amount of... well, let's just say it: bullshit.

Between Tony Stark and his carousing, Tony Stark and his drinking, Tony Stark suddenly deciding to become a superhero, Tony Stark suddenly deciding to become her boyfriend (and didn't that sound silly, calling him something that banal), Tony Stark suddenly deciding to not only join but actively collect and house a ragtag team of superheroes in his Manhattan tower, and Tony Stark just generally _existing_ , there was a lot of bullshit in Pepper Potts's life. She had learned, largely through trial and error and repeated exposure, not to let it throw her.

Throwing out whatever random floozy Tony had brought home this week? No sweat.

Watching aliens come out of the sky over Manhattan? Horrifying, yes, but she could deal.

Suddenly getting superpowers of her own thanks to an old acquaintance with a psychotic grudge? Hey, there could be actual up-sides to this.

Steve Rogers calling her in L.A. at nine p.m. California time asking to borrow the jet so that he could escort Darcy Lewis - whom everyone thought he hated - home to Texas for her grandmother's funeral? It would absolutely not be an understatement to say that Pepper Potts was, for the first time in a very long time, utterly flabbergasted.

Of course she gave him the jet immediately - it was for _Darcy_ , for pete's sake, and everyone (except Steve) absolutely loved Darcy. Pepper especially loved Darcy because Darcy, upon moving into the tower as part of Thor's entourage, had taken one look at the team of rampant destruction that was Tony and Bruce, immediately dubbed them Science Bros, and then taken their entire department in hand. Within a week, she was riding herd over not just Jane but also both Bruce and Tony, and Pepper's life had suddenly become exponentially easier. There was absolutely no question about it: aside from Tony, Darcy was definitely Pepper's favorite. (Pepper would never admit it in front of Tony, but there were some days when she liked Darcy better.)

But after she gave Steve the jet, she had to talk to someone about the fact that she'd just given the jet to Steve, so that he could escort Darcy - whom he hated! - back home to her grandmother's funeral. So she picked up the phone and called the first person she could think of.

“He's doing what?” Natasha asked when Pepper finished explaining.

“I know!” Pepper exclaimed.

“But he hates her,” Natasha asserted.

“I _know_.” Pepper repeated.

“What is he doing?” Natasha muttered, possibly to herself.

“I _don't know_ ,” Pepper moaned, flopping backward on her bed and feeling a little bit like she was back in high school.

After that, it was just a matter of hurry-up-and-wait. She went back and forth about whether to tell Tony - it was even odds whether he'd find it sweet or amusing, and if he'd try to interfere - but in the end she decided to tell him simply to keep him from blundering into something and making things worse. So she waited until she had his complete and undivided attention - which is to say, when he came up to bed, she knocked him onto the mattress, straddled him and sat on his stomach. “Tony,” she said. “I have to talk to you about something important.”

His eyes got huge and worried. “Uh?”

“Before I tell you anything, I need to explain to you that there are consequences involved in what I'm about to say.”

He blinked. “Uh.”

“And when I say consequences, I mean that if you screw this up for me, I swear to God, Tony, I will make you wish you hadn't.” She ran a hand through his hair. “Do I make myself extremely clear?”

He swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. I think Steve is finally getting his head out of his ass where Darcy is concerned.”

Tony stared up at her. “Uh... what?”

She sighed. “Do you pay attention to anything around you at all, or is it all just sort of like the adults speaking in a Charlie Brown special?”

“Mostly the latter,” he admitted. “Back up and start from the beginning, because Steve hates Darcy.”

“Well, I thought so, too.” She shifted off him and settled onto the mattress, her legs crossing in front of her as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She picked up Tony's hand, idly playing with his fingers as she spoke. “But I'm starting to think it might actually be the opposite reaction. I'm starting to think she gets on his nerves because he likes her _too_ much, and after everything that's happened to him, he's afraid.”

Tony considered this statement. Pepper had found that Tony was actually _not_ completely incompetent with regard to humans; it was just that he didn't _care_. He'd been hurt so badly, for so long, by so many people, that he had forcibly shut down. If his interest could be caught, though, he could be convinced to care - and that was how he had managed to start collecting superheroes and dating Pepper Potts. “You might actually be right,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I noticed - and by noticed, of course, I mean Jane pointed it out and I double checked her data - that he's the nastiest to her when she does anything for him that could be remotely construed as romantic in nature. But she's quit doing that. In fact, it occurs to me now that she's quit doing a lot of things, and we might need to have a little house meeting about exactly why Darcy Lewis isn't making food things any more.”

“Darcy isn't making food any more because Steve gets nasty with her every time she does,” Pepper pointed out reasonably.

“Which is exactly why I think we need a house meeting. If Mr. Stars and Stripes is developing an ego and thinks he can get between me and whatever that pasta thing was she made that time, he's got another thought coming.”

Pepper sighed, shifted, and straddled his stomach again, giving his earlobe a sharp tug. “Focus.”

“I _am_ focused. He's depriving us all of delicious things to put in our food holes.”

“Darcy's grandmother died today, Tony, and Steve called to ask if he could borrow the jet to take her home for the funeral.”

She watched the gears shift inside Tony's head. “Does he have a license to fly that thing?”

“No,” Pepper replied, drawing the word out long past its expiration. “He's not _flying_ her. He's _escorting_ her.”

Tony's brow furrowed. “Why the _hell_ would he do that?”

“That's what I'm _saying_!” Pepper exclaimed, exasperated. “I think he's getting his head out of his ass.”

There was a very long silence. Then Tony said, “We should start a pool on whether they come back engaged or he comes back in traction.”

“ _Tony!_ ”

Tony froze in the act of reaching for his cell phone. There was no other reaction he could have when Pepper used that tone. Slowly, he retracted his hand, placing it flat on the mattress, and he raised his eyes back up to her face. “Yes, Pepper,” he said quietly.

“Thank you. Please pay attention. Do you recall what I said at the beginning of this conversation about how if you screw this up, there will be consequences?” When he nodded, she continued. “Good. So don't screw this up.”

“No pool, then.”

“No pool.”

“Fair enough.” He raised his hands, resting them on her thighs. “But if he makes her cry, I'm going to beat his star-spangled ass.”

***

Natasha left her apartment the next morning just in time to see Steve disappear into the elevator with Darcy, saying something incomprehensible about someone's Aunt Nora as he did so. She shook her head, making her way down the hall. She was glad that Pepper had changed Tony's mind about the design of the Avengers' residential areas; he'd planned to give each team member their own floor, but that would have been entirely too much space for any one person, and Pepper had seen that and nixed the entire plan. She'd convinced Tony, instead, to develop apartments for each of them, centered around a large common space.

The Avengers' floors - eighty-five through ninety of the ninety-one-floor tower - were now organized in a roughly circular fashion, with four-bedroom, two-story apartments for each of them arranged on the outer walls, while the inner areas were given over to common space. One floor was an entertainment area, containing a huge television and every video game system known to mankind - including a Sega Dreamcast, which Clint apparently found hilarious for some reason. One was an actual game room, with a pool table and ping pong and foosball and even, to Steve's delight, three different pinball machines. Two floors were given over to library space, because an enjoyment of reading was the singular interest that every single one of the Avengers and their support staff had in common. One floor contained a state-of-the-art gymnasium and a swimming pool. And one floor - Natasha's favorite - held the kitchen.

Everyone's apartment had its own fully functional kitchen, and people were always “having everyone over for dinner” - it was kind of a running joke, at this point - but the communal kitchen was where the action was. If someone wanted a snack during the day, they didn't go to their apartment to get it (unless it was something they didn't want to share, which occasionally happened). They went to the communal kitchen on the eighty-seventh floor. If someone decided to randomly make an Avengers-sized batch of chocolate-chip cookies at four in the morning (which also occasionally happened), they went to the communal kitchen. When Darcy had been making food for everyone in an attempt to help develop team camaraderie (which had been shut down in spectacular fashion by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Bastard!Steve Rogers), that had also occurred in the communal kitchen.

And it was a virtual guarantee that if she wanted Clint Barton's attention before noon, she'd find him in the communal kitchen, shunning Tony's very fancy, voice-activated coffee machine in favor of the old drip machine that nobody used except him because he'd been caught drinking straight from the pot one too many times.

And sure enough, as soon as she walked in, there he was, slouched against the counter with the coffeepot in his hands. “You're disgusting,” she commented as she passed him. She stopped in front of the very fancy coffee maker and addressed it. “I would like a large medium-roast with vanilla creamer, please.”

The coffee machine beeped in acknowledgement and went to work, and Natasha turned to face Clint, who smirked at her over the top of the pot. “What's with the breaking news announcement?”

“I felt like you needed a reminder.”

“Thanks for stayin' on top of me,” he drawled.

She narrowed her eyes. “For that, I think I will not share the actual news with you.”

“Aw, Nat,” he whined. “Come on. You've got that look on your face. There really _is_ news, isn't there? Come on.”

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the coffee machine when it whistled. “Thank you,” she said to the machine. She wasn't entirely sure that it was necessary, but with the number of things in Tony Stark's tower that shouldn't have personalities but did, she felt like it was a safer bet to be polite to the machinery. She'd seen _The Matrix_ and all the _Terminator_ movies, after all - including the third one, which was objectively terrible even by Russian standards - and she knew that when the time came that JARVIS decided to take over the world, she wanted to be on the AI's good list.

“Fine,” she said, turning back to Clint. “I suppose I can tell you, just so that you don't go blundering in and ruining things. Darcy has gone home to Texas for her grandmother's funeral, and Steve is escorting her.”

Clint nearly dropped the coffee pot. “What? But Steve hates Darcy!”

“Apparently not enough to rejoice in her absence from the Tower,” Natasha replied.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Completely,” she assured him. She filled him in on her call from Pepper the previous night, as well as the fact that she'd seen the two of them leaving together this morning. “So, you see.”

“Does Tony know about this yet?” Clint asked, digging into his pocket for his cell phone. “I want to know what the over-under is on Steve coming back with a cast.”

“ _Clint!_ ”

Clint froze, which was the only rational response when Natasha used that tone. “Yes, Nat.”

“You recall what I said just a moment ago about not blundering in and ruining things. I will make your life misery.”

He withdrew his hand slowly from his pocket, leaving the cell phone behind. “So, no pool.”

“No pool, Clint.”

***

Clint kept his word to Natasha about not starting a pool with Tony. However, he did take a moment once he was clear of Natasha to send a preemptive text to Steve, letting his friend and team leader know just exactly how put out Clint would be if Steve were to do anything stupid like, say, make Darcy cry. The response that he got was not terribly promising, but at least Steve was warned.

That accomplished, Clint wandered down to Bruce Banner's lab on the seventy-ninth floor. The doctor was in, but he was doing something that looked dangerous with chemicals, so Clint made just enough noise to announce his presence without causing startlement, and then perched himself on top of the filing cabinets nearest the north windows to wait.

When Banner finished whatever it was he was doing - or at least reached a place where it was safe to converse - he greeted Clint, and Clint shared the news.

Banner blinked. “You're kidding. Steve hates Darcy.”

“Yeah, that's pretty much what I said,” Clint replied. “When you get some free time, could you make up some more of whatever it was that you and Tony put in those tranq arrows? I could use some more of those.”

“Sure.” Banner made a note on one of the white boards.

“Thanks.” Clint shifted off the top of the filing cabinets, knocking over a potted cactus in the process. The plant was probably already dead, but Clint sighed down at the mess of dirt and broken pot anyway. “Aw, cactus.”

***

On Wednesday, Pepper and Tony came back from L.A. And Thor and Jane returned from Asgard. Thor was cautiously optimistic about the way things had gone; he'd managed to convince his father to at least _discuss_ a trade treaty, which was better than nothing, and Jane reported that at least she had not been compared to livestock this time around, which might have been an improvement but seriously that guy was a douchebag, okay?

She left Thor talking treaties and trade and politics (things Darcy would understand and probably want to be neck-deep in, but for which Jane had little patience) with Pepper, and wandered down to the labs to see what kind of trouble she could get into with Tony and Bruce. She found them throwing Silly Putty at the walls in Tony's lab on seventy-six, because Darcy had somehow managed to convince JARVIS that it was a bad idea to allow the Science Bros to play together unsupervised, and they were locked out of the computers until Bruce went back to his own lab to play quietly alone. Jane considered briefly that it probably hadn't been much of a stretch to convince JARVIS; in fact, the AI had probably been less “convinced” and more “co-conspirator” in the matter.

“But why are you unsupervised?” she asked, looking around. “Where's Darcy?”

“Oh, right, you haven't heard,” Tony said, sitting up straight. “She had to go home to Texas. Her grandmother died.”

“Oh, no.” The reaction slipped from Jane's lips in a tone of sympathy, but the next thought she had was more worrisome. “Oh. Oh, no.”

Bruce blinked. “What?”

“If her granny's dead, that means she's going to be there with Nora.”

“And who is Nora?” Tony inquired.

Jane explained what she knew about Nora - that was, what Darcy had told her, which was little enough. “I know they have a really adversarial relationship; Darcy's adopted, and Nora hasn't ever really accepted her as part of the family. Plus, even if she did, Darcy's still sort of the black sheep as far as Nora is concerned.” She bit her lip, considering how much to reveal. “She went home to visit once from New Mexico, and when she came back, she was seriously depressed,” Jane admitted. “Being around Nora really does a number on Darcy's self-esteem.”

Both men looked sympathetic; Jane had a feeling, without knowing much about either of them, that they could both relate. “Well,” Bruce said, “at least she isn't there by herself.”

“She's not?” Jane asked, surprised. “Who's with her?”

Tony looked positively gleeful. “Nobody much. Just a certain Star Spangled Man with a Plan.”

Jane blinked. “What? But Steve _hates_ Darcy!”

“We know!” the two men chorused.

***

It was funny when Jane found Tony and Bruce locked out of their computers. When Jane found _herself_ locked out, however, it was less amusing. JARVIS had been appropriately regretful, but stated that he was under orders from Darcy not to allow Jane access to her work until she'd had a full twenty-four hours to recover from her travels, and since he was under orders from Pepper to do what Darcy told him, and under orders from Tony to do whatever Pepper told him, there really wasn't any way for him to get around that, not even a little bit, and would she like for him to queue up a movie for her in the media center?

She sighed, thanked JARVIS politely, and went in search of Thor. She found him in the communal kitchen, doing something arcane to several racks of ribs. “Making dinner?” she asked.

“Hello, Jane!” He gave her a broad grin. “I am indeed preparing food; it was my thought that our comrades might enjoy the opportunity to taste an Asgardian meal.” He gestured toward a box that sat on the counter.

It was quite large, made of wood, and inlaid with Celtic-style knotwork in something that looked like mother-of-pearl but probably wasn't. She moved to his side and ran her hand across the lid. “This is lovely,” she murmured. “You brought this from home?” He'd brought a lot of things; she hadn't really paid a whole lot of attention to the details.

“I did. It was a gift from Andhrímnir, who is the chief cook in my father's palace. Open it.”

She did, and found that it was packed full of small paper packets, each one labeled neatly in a Nordic-looking runic script. She squinted at it. The runes seemed to... writhe, almost, on the paper. Or maybe that was just her eyes crossing? No. She squinted again, and they did it again, but they never quite formed anything she could understand. “What _is_ this?” she asks.

He glanced at the packet. “That is coarse-ground _correnda_ ,” he said.

“No, I mean the writing. It's like it keeps trying to change or something.”

“Oh! That is because it is written in the Allspeak, the Aesir tongue.” He paused, considering. “I cannot explain the mechanism by which it functions, for I have not been trained in mystical linguistics. I can tell you only that it is a combination of an innate ability within the Aesir and a function of the language itself. When I speak, you hear not my words, but my meaning, expressed to you in the tongue you are most comfortable with. When you speak, I hear your meaning spoken in my tongue.” He pointed at the paper. “However, according to my understanding, because it is not _solely_ a function of the language but also part of an innate Aesir ability, it... well, it apparently does not work with writing.”

Jane considered this, running her fingers across the paper and studying the runes as they struggled and failed to form themselves into something she would understand. “Is it that it doesn't work with _any_ writing, or is it because we don't have a word for _correnda_?”

Thor thought about that for a moment. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Perhaps we should find out.” He looked down at his hands, which were covered in the dry rub he'd been using on the meat. “Only not just now; I think it would not be a good thing if I were too distracted from my chosen task.”

Jane laughed, tucking the herb packet back into the box. “Good point.” She hopped up onto one of the barstools at the counter to watch him work. “I did not know you could cook.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied. “There has been many a time when I have been required to feed myself and my companions while on journeys. We often take turns. Volstagg is much better at campfire cooking than I am, I confess, but he also considers himself quite a gourmand, so I suppose it is only natural.” He rinsed his hands and dug into the cabinet, pulling out a roll of aluminum foil. He lined the bottom of the oven with the foil, then turned the dials to set the heat. “And Darcy taught me how to use the oven, since it is very different from the kind we use in Asgard.”

“Oh! Speaking of Darcy.” Jane sat up straight. “I almost forgot to tell you.” She shared the news about Darcy's grandmother, and then about Steve accompanying Darcy home. “What do you think about that?”

Thor grinned broadly. “I think it is very fine indeed! Steven is an honorable warrior, and I am proud to call him my shield-brother; he will make an excellent suitor for Darcy, and she would make him a fine wife.”

Jane blinked. “Did you say wife?”

“Oh, yes. I have little doubt that Darcy and Steven will do very well together once he has gotten over his unfortunate shyness around her.”

“But... we all thought he hated her.”

Thor scoffed, waving a hand as he began placing the ribs into the oven, laying them directly on the cooking racks. “Ridiculous. Anyone could see that it is quite the opposite. Her ways are unfamiliar to him, and this causes him some disquiet, but he is captivated by her all the same. I was sure that he would come around to her soon enough.”  
  


Jane stared at him. “How?” she asked simply.

He grinned at her, closing the oven. “My Jane. I have my faults, and I am well aware of these. I am often too quick to anger, and my lust for battle is perhaps stronger than it should be. But I am also heir to the throne of Asgard and the Nine Realms, and a great deal of my training has involved learning to understand people. In order to effectively rule people, one must understand their wants and needs, emotions and desires. And one must learn to hear not only what they say, but what they most emphatically do _not_ say. And Steven most emphatically does _not_ say that he dislikes Darcy, does he? In fact, he most emphatically says absolutely nothing at all about her. But when she is in sight, he _watches_ her. Knowing what you know about Steven, what does that tell you?”

Jane took a deep breath, thinking about that. And then, very softly, she said, “Oh.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Steve and Darcy Talk Politics. I am aware that many people may disagree with the opinions expressed in this chapter. That's perfectly all right. Please do not send me hate mail if you disagree with the opinions expressed in this chapter. Thank you. <3

It was probably just a coincidence that all the residents of the uppermost floors happened to be lounging around the library late on Friday afternoon. They did, after all, share a common love of reading. There wasn't any reason why they _shouldn't_ be there.

Sure, the science contingent could probably have been working in their individual labs to open black holes, develop new medicines, and build new robots. Pepper was undoubtedly skipping out on a plan to make another billion dollars. Clint could've easily been practicing with the new trick arrows Tony had developed, and Natasha didn't maintain her mad ninja skills by sitting around with her feet up on the table while re-reading Dostoevsky. But a lazy afternoon in the library seemed to be just what the doctor had ordered on that particular Friday, and it had nothing _at all_ to do with the fact that Darcy and Steve were due back from the airport pretty much any time.

When the elevator dinged, no one moved, but the whole room took on an air of anticipation.

The doors slid open just in time for Steve's voice to pour out. “...short-sheeted his bed, but I swear I had nothing to do with the monkey.”

Darcy's laughter rang through the open space. “You devious little shit,” she said, stepping out of the elevator. “I don't believe a word you say.”

“I _didn't_ , though. Honest. That was all Morita.”

Darcy shook her head, not even glancing toward the reading area where five Avengers and two adjacents were very casually trying to pretend that they weren't fixated on the scene in the hallway. She only had eyes for the man who was walking beside her, his duffel bag over his shoulder and a medium-sized cardboard box in his hands, and he apparently only had eyes for her, because he didn't seem to notice any of them, either.

Darcy's door was closest to the elevator, and within the direct line of sight of everyone in the library except for Clint. He stood casually and moved across the room, returning his book to one shelf as if nothing was going on behind him, then turning and even more casually perusing the shelf behind him that just happened to afford a great view of Darcy unlocking her door. She pushed it open and entered her apartment, holding the door open for Steve, who followed her in with the box still in his hands. The apartment door swung shut again behind them.

There was a very long silence in the library. A few minutes passed.

Just as Pepper drew breath to say something, Darcy's door opened again and Steve stepped out. He stood awkwardly in front of the door for a moment. “So, I'll see you later,” he said finally, running a hand through his hair.

Darcy smiled up at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I was thinking -” Something caught her eye, and her gaze shifted just enough that she saw Clint still standing at the library shelf. She leaned slightly, looking around Steve, and her expression shifted subtly as she realized that they had an audience consisting of pretty much everyone they both knew. “Hi, guys,” she said, giving them a wave as Steve turned to face them as well.

Tony raised his head from the book in his lap. “Somebody say something?” He looked around. “Oh! Lewis! You're back from wherever it is you went. Where was it? Somewhere in flyover country? Bohemia?”

“I _might_ actually buy that absentminded idiot act if your book wasn't both upside down and in French,” Darcy replied. “And you know perfectly well that I was in Texas.” She folded her arms and glared in a generally team-ish direction. “Don't any of you have anything better to be doing right now? I'm almost certain that at least one of you just came back from another planet with a whole bunch of scientific data that, under ordinary circumstances, would make you impossible to pull away from your machines for days at a time.”

Jane started, guilt flashing across her face. “Darcy, come on,” she wheedled. “I was worried about you, having to go home and be around Nora.”

“Ugh.” Darcy made a face, stepping away from the door and toward the library. With a nudge, she encouraged Steve to come with her. He left his duffel by her door, moved into the open space, and sprawled into an empty armchair; she dropped into the floor near his feet. “It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Abe and his family got there Wednesday and Jacob actually chased them out of the house when Nora got nasty with me about not being a real kid.” She budged Steve's leg with her elbow, grinning. “And I had my knight in star-spangled armor to protect me before they got there.”

Steve flushed. “I couldn't just let her - ”

“I know.” She patted his foot, and he subsided, and Pepper and Natasha made very meaningful eye contact across the room. “Anyway. To make a long and nasty story very short, Steve kept her off me until the rest of the family got there, and then they kept her off me the rest of the time, and it was utterly miserable but it could have been so much worse.” She paused, then grinned mischievously. “Also, Steve got my cousin Hannah's number; I think he might have something going there.”

Steve's face, still a little pink from before, flushed nearly purple as the rest of the team responded with various reactions of shock and surprise, and Darcy fell over onto the carpet, laughing hysterically. “It's not like that,” Steve muttered, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “She's twelve!”

“Not helping your case, buddy,” Clint offered from across the room. Steve shot him the finger, and the archer cackled in response.

Jane was shaking her head, though. “I've met Hannah,” she assured Steve, reaching over to pat him on the shoulder. “She's adorable.”

Darcy, meanwhile, had gained control of herself and stood. “I'm going to take a shower and veg for a little while,” she announced. “But if nobody else has claimed the kitchen, I was thinking I might make chicken tetrazzini later.”

“Yes!” Tony nearly shouted.

Darcy blinked. “O...kay then,” she said, taking a slow step back. “Pepper, you might want to have him checked. I think he's overcharged.”

“Not to worry,” Pepper said lightly, shooting Tony a killing glare. “I'll handle it.”

“Okay then,” Darcy said again. “I'll have JARVIS give everybody about a half-hour heads up before it's ready.” She turned and headed back to her room, but nobody missed the way her fingers trailed across Steve's shoulder as she passed him.

There was a hush in the room after her apartment door closed, and then Steve pushed himself to his feet. “I'm going to go unpack and do laundry,” he said, making a beeline for his bag, and then all but flinging himself down the spiral staircase that connected the uppermost floors of the Tower.

In the wake of his going, Bruce chuckled. “Well,” he murmured to everyone and no one, “that was certainly interesting.”

***

For the first week or so after their return from Texas, not much changed. The team was called to assemble twice - both short missions from which they returned mostly unscathed - and Steve returned to his regular routine, which mostly consisted of training and following a SHIELD-prescribed course of study to catch up with the modern world. Then one evening at a team dinner, Steve's sense of humor deserted him at exactly the wrong moment, and he made a joke about Ronald Reagan defeating the Evil Empire.

The silence that descended at the table was almost thick enough to touch, and nobody was quite sure where to look first: at the ceiling, the floor, or nervously at Natasha. For her part, the former Russian kept her mouth quite shut, focusing her gaze on the plate before her and saying nothing. After a moment, Steve spoke again. “And... I'm guessing I probably really shouldn't have said that.”

“Um.” Darcy coughed softly. “I'm just... kind of wondering where you got the context for that. Because, I mean, I can see what you meant, I'm just... not really sure why it was supposed to be funny, I guess.”

It had been less than two minutes since his misstep, and Steve's face was bright red with embarrassment. “I've been studying twentieth century military history, and I just finished the chapter on the Cold War,” he began.

Darcy stopped him. “The _chapter_? Oh God. What are you reading? Can I see it?”

“Sure.” He stood, heading down the hall to his apartment and returning a moment later with a large, heavy textbook in his hands. He held it out to her and she took it.

Pushing her plate aside, she flipped the book open and began to page through it, skimming rapidly. He sat again as she flipped forward to the chapter he'd mentioned, reading rapidly through it. Her eyebrows drew together as she read, and the further she got into it, the redder her cheeks became. About halfway through the chapter, she slammed the book closed, walked into the kitchen, and snatched open the tiny door of the incinerator chute.

“Darcy, what are you doing?” Steve exclaimed. “That's my history book!”

“I'll get you more. I'll get you a _thousand_ more.” She shoved the book into the incinerator chute and slammed the little door shut again. “Trust me, Steve. If you want to read complete fucking bullshit fantasy, there's a ton of it up in the library that'll be better written, and if you want to read the pack of lies in that textbook again, I'll show you how to access Conservapedia.” She flounced back to the table and sat again, then pointed a finger at him. “Starting tomorrow, if you're not assembling or briefing, you're mine after lunch every day until we can get you caught up.” She picked up her fork, returning her attention to her plate. “God only knows how much deprogramming I'm going to have to do.”

Steve flushed even redder. “Darce,” he said, his voice low, and her head jerked up, her eyes actually meeting his for the first time since she'd taken the book from him.

Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Steve,” she said softly. “I'm sorry.”

His jaw worked for a moment, as though he was struggling with his words. “It's okay,” he finally managed. “Just... please let it go.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Then, her voice only a little thick, she said, “There's chess pie for dessert, if anyone wants it.” Her eyes tracked the faces at the table, their companions who had sat silent and watched the two of them have their awkward and embarrassing moment, and she silently begged someone - anyone! - to help her divert attention.

Pepper, with her unerring graciousness and hostess's instinct, stepped in smoothly to fill the gap. “I don't think I've ever had chess pie,” she said. “I'd love to try it.”

Darcy popped out of her chair to retrieve the pie and clean dessert plates; Bruce collected everyone's dirty dishes and carried them in to place in the sink. By the time he was back in his seat, pieces of the yellowish custard pie were being passed all around the table. Jane tried hers first, blinking at it as she rolled the bite around in her mouth before swallowing. “That may be the sweetest thing I've eaten since my last bowl of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs,” she announced. “Darcy, what's in that?”

Darcy grinned. “Half a cup of brown sugar, a cup of white sugar, three eggs, a little bit of vanilla, a little bit of vinegar to cut the sweet, and a little bit of corn meal for texture. Oh, and half a pound of butter.”

Clint blinked. “Half a _pound_?”

“Corn meal?” Tony asked, poking at the pie with his fork as though afraid it might blow up.

Darcy reached for his plate. “If you don't want it...”

“No!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around it and defending it with his fork. “I want it! I want it!”

“Just trust Darcy,” Steve said softly, cutting a decent-sized bite of his own pie. “Has she ever steered any of us wrong before?”

With that, everyone dug in, and nobody complained. Across the table, Darcy gave Steve a tentative, apologetic smile. He smiled back. Deep inside herself, where no one could see, Pepper sighed in relief.

***

At precisely 1:00 p.m. the following day, just as Darcy was settling in for her afternoon cruise of Facebook on the lab computer, Steve stuck his head in the door. “Darce?”

She nearly came out of her skin; Jane was at NYU consulting with a physicist on the faculty there, and she hadn't expected to see anyone until later. “Steve!” she exclaimed, fanning herself. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he said, coming into the otherwise empty lab and giving her a slight, shy smile. “I'm here for my history lesson.”

She swallowed. “I wasn't sure you'd come,” she admitted. “After last night.”

“You didn't do it on purpose,” he said. “I know that. I just got embarrassed. It's okay. Bridge, water, the whole thing.”

She gave him a tentative smile in response. “Okay, then,” she said. She took a deep breath. “All right. Well.” She paused. “I'm just going to assume you read about the end of the war, then. The Holocaust and the bomb.”

His jaw tightened. “I read about it.”

“One or two pictures in that high-school-level doorstop?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Come on, then, soldier. We're going on a field trip.”

They crossed the street into Grand Central Station and caught the subway heading for Lower Manhattan. On the way, Darcy quizzed him about the things he'd read in the book she'd disposed of. As Darcy had feared, he'd gotten mostly political history, and largely from a conservative perspective. She sighed, sitting back in her seat as the train rounded a corner. “Well,” she said. “I can't honestly say that a lot of what you learned was inaccurate, per se. But in my opinion, a lot of it is wrong-headed, and I think it glosses over a lot of really important things. Reagan, for example. Sure, he's a conservative hero, and a lot of people think that he did good things. Inflation went down during his terms, the Civil Liberties Act authorized compensation for Japanese Americans who were interned during the war, there was a reduction in nuclear arms all around. All good things. But then there was Iran-Contra, where we sold weapons to Iran in exchange for hostages, and there was HUD rigging, where his campaign contributors got kickbacks in the form of government grants, and oh God, don't even get me started on the savings-and-loan crisis and the Keating Five. I have an entire lecture on that.”

He blinked at her. “I have absolutely no idea what any of that even meant.”

“And that's the whole problem,” she replied. If you know enough history to be making jokes about the Evil Empire - which you should probably not do in front of Natasha, anyway - then you _should_ also know about Iran-Contra and the S-and-Ls, at the very least. The history you got was accurate, as far as it went, but it didn't go far enough. You only got half the story, and it was designed to sway your opinions in a certain direction.”

He frowned. “Why would they do that?”

Darcy scrubbed at her face with one hand. “If it helps, it _probably_ wasn't deliberate, at least, not on SHIELD's part. At least, I don't think so. It was probably just that somebody said 'Get Captain Rogers a history book' and someone else grabbed the first history book they found, and it happened to be that one. The problem lies with the people who wrote the book, and they do that because...” She trailed off, bit her lip, and then said, “I should probably warn you that I'm both really left-wing and really cynical.”

“I never would have guessed,” he said, deadpan.

“Asshole.” She nudged him with her knee. “If you want to control a populace, you have to start by controlling the information that the populace is exposed to. You don't even have to lie; just present facts in a way that leads them to think the way you want them to think, and soon enough, they do. And most of the time, they don't even realize what's happened. They think they came to those conclusions all on their own. A guy named Gramsci wrote a theory about it; he called it hegemony, when the ruling class causes the subject class to value the same things as the rulers, even against their own best interests, without realizing that they've been led to it.”

Steve frowned again. “I'm not sure I understand.”

She considered. “It's like this. Suppose I'm a person working a menial job making minimum wage, and I can't get by. I think, man, I'd really like to be rich, you know? Be able to afford nice things. But the people who are already rich don't want me to get rich, because they're afraid that the more I have, the less they'll get to keep. Some guy with fifty billion in the bank is worried that he might not get to fifty-one billion if I get a couple hundred thou. You see?”

He nodded. “It's greed,” he said.

“Exactly. Pure, unadulterated human greed. Never changes. But what they do is, they change the narrative. Instead of talking about how much it sucks to be poor and how great it would be if everybody had a little more money, they talk about how even if you don't have a lot of money, maybe you're rich in the love of your family or something. So maybe you see a show on TV about a family that's poor but they all have each other and at the end of the day, that's enough - even though there's holes in the roof and Little Johnny could really stand to see a doctor. And then you add to that another show about Richie Rich, who's got all the money in the world but no friends and no family and he's lonely and miserable. And you see the same kinds of things over and over, and it's subtle and devious, and it takes a long time, but then suddenly you turn around one day and you're living in a world where eighty-five people have more money than another three and a half billion combined, and somehow that's okay.”

She paused, then gave him a half-hearted grin. “I may have mentioned the cynicism and the leftie politics and the occasional political rant.”

He nodded, but he wasn't looking at her and she could tell that he was thinking about what she'd said. “When I was a kid,” he finally said, “my ma worked twelve-hour shifts as a nurse at the general hospital. But it was different then from how it is now. Everybody goes to the hospital now. Back then, rich people didn't go to the hospital. If they got sick, a doctor came to their house to see them. The only people who went to the hospital were people who were really poor and desperate, and a lot of them just went there to die.”

Darcy made a soft humming sound to let him know she was listening.

“But I saw a report on the news that said poor people can't afford to go to the hospital now.”

She nodded. “ _Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose_ ,” she said softly.

“When I was ten,” he said, “Herbert Hoover was running for President, and he promised people a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage,” he murmured. “And I remember my ma asking Mrs. Dover from across the hall what he was gonna do about people that didn't have pots and garages.”

They were silent until they reached their stop, and Darcy led him up to the street level and then to the front door of their destination. “Okay,” she said. “We're going to go into this museum. And I'm going to warn you right now that it's going to be moderately awful, and you're going to hate it, and I'm probably going to cry, and afterward we're going to go have ice cream and maybe throw things at other things and be generally very angry and sad.”

“Jesus, Darce,” he said, craning his neck around to look for the sign. “What the hell kind of museum is this place?”

“Jewish Heritage,” she replied. “It's the Holocaust Museum.” She pulled the door open. “After you.”

They spent three hours inside. It was moderately awful. Steve hated every minute of it, and Darcy cried. When they came out, they went up the block to an ice cream place, where she bought them both double scoops and then they went to a park to sit and eat it angrily.

“I really didn't enjoy that,” Steve said after a time, proving once and for all that he was the master of understatement. “That was very unpleasant.”

Darcy took a deep breath. “If you look at it another way,” she said, “those are the things that you fought and nearly died to stop happening.”

He thought about that. Then he said, “Yeah. I guess I did.”

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He took his own free hand and laid it on top of hers, squeezing gently. “You're welcome.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even gonna lie, you guys, I am so proud of this part.

Another week passed in relative quiet before Darcy presented herself at Steve's front door one evening after dinner. When he let her into his apartment, she presented him with a printed list of names and phone numbers and a photograph of a dress.

“What's this?” he asked, looking between the list and the photograph.

She took a deep breath. “Item number one is a list of all the therapists with offices within the five boroughs who have experience in dealing with PTSD and related issues and who also have clearance to hear about the kind of stuff you might need to talk about,” she said. 

He sighed. “Darce,” he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“No,” she said firmly. “I told you in Texas that I was going to put my stompy foot down about this once we got back. I've given you two weeks to get used to the idea. JARVIS,” she said, pitching her voice toward the ceiling the way everyone but Tony tended to do, “since we came back from Texas, how many episodes fitting the criteria of PTSD-related has Captain Rogers experienced?”

“Six,” JARVIS replied promptly. “Two episodes of flashback-related hypervigilance and four nightmares that resulted in insomnia.”

“Traitor,” Steve muttered without heat.

“I am sorry, sir,” JARVIS replied, and he actually sounded apologetic. “But one of my primary directives is to ensure that everyone residing within my purview remains healthy and sound. In this situation, unfortunately, that directive must override any privacy concerns.”

Steve waved a hand. “No, it's fine, JARVIS. I get it.” He looked down at the list, then at the photograph. “What's this, then?”

“That,” Darcy replied, a smug little smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “is the dress I bought yesterday when I went shopping with Natasha and Pepper.”

Steve looked back down at the photo, then up at Darcy. His eyes narrowed at her slightly as he visualized her in the dress. He swallowed hard. “And I have a picture of it because...?”

“Because,” she said, reaching out to tap the list, “that is the dress I'm going to wear when you finally get off your ass and ask me out like you said you were going to. Which you are not allowed to do until after you have an appointment with one of the people on this list. And by  _ have _ , I mean attend and actively participate in.”

He frowned at her. “Isn't that blackmail or something?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “It's incentive.”

He looked down at the list and felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. Then he looked at the photo and felt an entirely different twist. He sighed. “So if I have the appointment, and show up, and actually talk to whoever it is... you'll go out with me? Dinner and a movie?”

She nodded firmly. “Do we have a deal?”

He tilted his head at her, considering her carefully for a long moment. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of letting her twist his arm like this, but at the same time, he knew that she had only his best interests at heart. And it wasn't like he enjoyed having nightmares and flashbacks. If she really thought one of these doctors could help... would it hurt to at least try? 

He sighed, then nodded back. “Deal,” he said softly.

“Good.” She took a step forward, and then another, and suddenly she was in his space, tiptoeing and pressing her warm lips briefly against his. She pulled back and smiled into his eyes. “Don't keep me waiting too long, soldier.”

And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her. He walked over to the window, the list and the photograph still in his hands, and he looked out at the city lights. “What am I getting myself into?” he wondered.

***

He ended up choosing a number off the list at random, and got an appointment for three days after Darcy brought him the list and the photograph. Dr. Burke turned out to be a soft-spoken African-American man in his late fifties, one of the few people Steve had met in recent days who was actually taller than himself. Something about being shorter put Steve at ease almost immediately. Maybe because the feeling was so much more familiar. 

Aside from the fairly comfortable-looking chair across from Burke's desk, there was a couch in the office and a set of wing chairs, and Burke gave Steve the choice of where to sit. He chose the chairs in front of the window, where the afternoon sun shone in, and the two men engaged in idle small talk for the first couple of minutes. Then Burke folded his hands. “So, Steve, why don't you tell me why you're here.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Because I talked to some doctors before. Um. A few months ago, I guess? And they were pretty sure that I've got this PTSD thing.” He paused, and then added, “And I've got this friend that's kind of... well, she's pushing me to get better, I guess. Which is fair because I've kinda been making her miserable. So I said I'd come.”

Burke tilted his head. “So you're here for her?”

“No. Well, not entirely.” Steve grinned slightly. “She did say that if I had the appointment - and she specified actually showing up and talking - that she'd go out with me. But...” He paused, the grin fading. “I know I got problems, Doc. I got nightmares all the time, and I have these... these episodes. Something ain't right inside my head, and it needs fixing. And she was pretty sure you or somebody like you could fix me. And I trust her, so...” He trailed off, shrugging.

“When you say episodes,” Burke said, “what exactly do you mean?”

Steve took a deep breath, considered where to start, and settled on what had happened in Darcy's bedroom in Texas. He explained about the sensation of falling, the absolute certainty that he had been surrounded by enemies, and the way Darcy had been able to talk him down and get the knife away from him. When he finished, he added, “I wouldn't worry so much if it was just me. But it's not. I could've hurt Darcy or her family, or one of the kids. And if that happened...” He shook his head.

“That would be a very tough thing to deal with,” Burke agreed. “Fortunately, that  _ didn't _ happen, so there's no need to dwell on it.” Burke steepled his fingers, studying Steve. “You said that these episodes are usually triggered by very strong memories - powerful enough that you sometimes forget it's a memory.” When Steve nodded, Burke continued, “We call those kinds of memories flashbacks. They are often associated with traumatic experiences, many times with combat and similar high-stress situations.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It's... I was in combat.”

“Where?” Burke asked.

Steve took a deep breath. “I served with the 107 th Army Infantry Regiment in Italy in 1943, and following that, with a specialist group called the Howling Commandos in various locations across Europe between 1943 and 1945.”

Burke nodded, making a note on his notepad. “And between 1945 and now?”

“In July 1945, I was forced to attempt a water landing in an advanced German bomber to prevent it decimating the East Coast of the United States,” Steve replied. “The plane went down into the sea ice off Greenland. In April 2012, the plane was discovered with me still inside. They thought I was dead until they thawed me out.”

Burke nodded. “Do you have flashbacks about the plane crashing?”

“Sometimes.”

“And other times?”

Steve chewed on his lower lip for a moment, studying Burke's face and trying to decide how much he should say. For Burke to have accepted his story without even a blink told Steve that someone - probably someone from SHIELD - had already talked to the doctor. That meant that there was a possibility that anything he said might go back to SHIELD. He didn't think Nick Fury needed any more leverage over him than he already had. The words fell out of his mouth before he even realized he was going to ask them. “Who do you report to, Doc?” 

Obviously taken aback, the doctor said, “What do you mean?”

“Come on. A story like that, fighting in Europe in 1943, and you didn't even blink. You already knew who I was before I came in. Somebody's been here talking to you, and I want to know who before I tell you anything else.”

“I see.” Burke nodded. He rose, crossing the room to his desk, and returned with a manila folder in his hand. It had a SHIELD logo on the front, and Steve's name written across the tab in black marker. “If you'd like to know what I knew before you came in, it's in this folder. It was brought to me yesterday by an agent called Jasper Sitwell. I believe you know him.”

“We've met,” Steve said shortly.

“He wanted me to know who I was dealing with before we spoke,” Burke explained. “Because you're exactly right: on an ordinary day, with an ordinary patient, a story like the one you told me would have probably ended with an involuntary psychiatric hold. But as you well know, today is not an ordinary day, and your story is not a delusion. Agent Sitwell felt that I needed to be aware of those special circumstances before we met.”

“And after? You report back to him?”

“No.” The word was solid, swift, and decisive, and its readiness was probably the thing that convinced Steve that Burke was telling the truth. “Whatever we discuss inside this room, Steve, is covered under doctor-patient confidentiality laws. If Agent Sitwell or anyone else wants to know what you and I talk about, they're going to have to come and ask you.”

Steve nodded. “All right, then,” he said softly. He took a deep breath and began. “The first thing you have to know about me is that I used to be short, skinny, and sickly.”

***

When he left Burke's office, the sun was still high in the sky, and though he was emotionally wrung out, Steve also felt strangely energized. He wasn't sure he could've run around the block if he needed to, but he wasn't sure he could handle sitting still for any length of time, either. He considered his options and smirked to himself, pulling his cell phone out and dialing.

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” Darcy's voice greeted him when she picked up.

“Yeah, don't quote that poem at me, Darce,” Steve replied. “It's a lament. The captain in the poem is dead.”

There was a long pause. “Uh,” Darcy finally managed. “I actually have no idea what to say to that.”

Steve laughed. “Tell me what you're wearing.”

The silence this time had an entirely different quality to it. “Um,” she finally replied, “I'm... not really in an appropriate environment for that kind of phone call.”

He slapped his forehead with his hand. “Jesus Christ, Darcy, could you just, for once, stop being difficult? Are you wearing pants or a skirt?”

She swallowed audibly, and when she spoke again, her voice was subdued. “Jeans,” she murmured.

He let out a slow breath. “Good. Can you meet me downstairs in...” He took a second to eyeball the traffic. “Forty-five minutes? Bring a jacket.”

“O...kay.” she agreed.

“Good. See you in a little while,” he said, and hung up. 

Forty-five minutes later, when Darcy exited through the revolving glass doors at the foot of Stark Tower, Steve was waiting for her. He was sitting astride his motorcycle, which he had pulled up onto the edge of the concrete plaza in front of the building in order to avoid blocking the street. He waved when she came out, and she waved back, shrugging into her jacket and trotting in his direction. “Hi!” she said, giving him a tentative smile.

“Hi, back,” he replied. He reached up and smoothed her hair back, tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Sorry I snapped at you on the phone.”

“It's okay,” she demurred, her cheeks going a little pink. 

But he shook his head. “It's not okay, actually. Me snapping at you all the time is what got us all turned around to begin with, remember?” He smiled slightly. “I was actually asking about your clothes because I thought maybe you'd go for a ride with me, and I didn't think you'd want to go in a skirt.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the bike, then up at him. “I was wondering. Because I was in the lab when you called, and it sort of... surprised me. For you to ask that.”

“I get that now,” he said, nodding. Then he chucked her gently under the chin. “So, what do you say? Wanna go for a ride?”

She canted her head to the side. “Hmm. You had an appointment today, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did. And it went well, and I have another appointment on Friday.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Twice in one week?”

Steve nodded. “He wants to see me twice a week for the next few weeks. Something about starting off intensive to sort of... get the really bad stuff out of the way, and then settling into a routine from there.”

“Good,” she said firmly. “I'm glad you went, and I'm glad it went well. I'd hate to think I was rewarding bad behavior.” She winked at him.

He grinned at her, slow and dirty, loving the way her cheeks went even pinker. He leaned in toward her ear. “Oh, I have a feeling you'll be doing plenty of that,” he assured her, pitching his voice low. “But not just yet.” He reached into the bike's saddle bag and pulled out his spare helmet, offering it to her. “Put this on. Strap it tight under your chin.”

Darcy obeyed, climbing onto the bike behind Steve once the helmet was secure. He half-stood in his seat to get the leverage he needed for the kick starter, and when he sank down again, she wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling in close. He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“So ready.”

He got them through Manhattan's midafternoon traffic with little trouble, loving the way Darcy would shout or laugh when he pulled off a particularly daring move with the bike, and the way she settled against him with a soft sigh as they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. He drove her down quiet streets that still looked familiar enough for him to point out a house where he'd once rented a room with Bucky, and another where he and his Ma had lived in the attic for a year. The orphanage was gone, replaced by a nice park, but the church where he'd been baptized, had his First Communion, served as an altar boy, and been confirmed was still there. 

He took her along the route he'd used when selling newspapers, pointing out the most and least profitable spots; he showed her the location of the first Army Recruitment office where he'd been rejected 4F (now a Chase Bank location); he took her out past Prospect Park and showed her where Ebbetts Field had once been, mourning the Dodgers' move to California. Then he took her down a quiet back street and parked the bike just up from a very traditional-looking red awning. “This place,” he said as he helped her off the bike, “I found it by accident a couple weeks after the thing with Loki. I was down here riding around, looking at everything that's changed, and when I saw this place, I was so surprised I damn near laid the bike down in the street.”

Darcy shook her hair out, handing him the helmet to replace in the saddle bag, and studied the façade. “It's just an Italian restaurant,” she commented. “What's special about it?”

Steve grinned. “It's been here since I was a kid,” he said. “The guy that owned the place when I was growing up, he left it to his son, and he left it to his son, and he left it to his daughter, and she's running the place now, and it's all the same food as it was back then - she swears the recipes haven't changed and they still make everything from scratch.”

“Oh!” Darcy breathed. “Oh, that's fantastic!”

“Yep,” Steve replied, popping the  _ p _ cheerfully. He offered her his arm. “Miss Lewis, I believe you promised me a date if I had that appointment. I held up my end of the bargain, what about you?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, taking his arm. “I'm pretty sure I promised you a date in that dress,” she pointed out.

“Oh, how about that,” he said, trying and totally failing to look innocent. “I forgot. Guess that means we'll have to do this again in a couple of days.”

Her laughter echoed up the street as he opened the door for her. “You're so  _ bad _ , Steve,” she admonished him. All he could do in reply was smirk - but from the sparkle in her eye, it looked like that was enough.

***

He saw her to her door, kissing her hand with an exaggerated gesture and laughing when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him properly, warm and sweet and full of promise. She nibbled on his lower lip before she let him go, but she didn't use her tongue. He guessed he hadn't earned that yet. That was okay. He could wait.

She closed the door and left him alone in the hallway, but when he turned toward the staircase, he discovered that he wasn't quite so alone as he thought he was. Thor was leaning against the library doorway, dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue-striped button-down. He didn't look like the God of Thunder; he just looked like an ordinary, if exceptionally well-built, guy. And apparently this was deliberate.

As Steve reached his teammate, Thor offered a hand, and they shared the friendly arm-clasp that Thor was accustomed to. Then Thor reached up and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Come, friend Steven,” he said, and there was an undercurrent there that told Steve the friendliness was just a veneer over something much deeper. “Let us share a drink and talk, you and I, as men do.”

They left the tower on foot, walking several blocks south and then east to a little bar on East 32 nd that they both knew and liked. The Old Haunt was even older than the restaurant where he took Darcy earlier, and despite its location, it seemed to be slowly becoming a cop bar. Steve was okay with that; he'd rather drink in the company of New York's finest than just about anyone else. He and Thor took a small table in the back of the place and the waitress, who recognized them as regulars, gave them a wave. “The usual, boys?” she called out.

“Yeah, whatever's on tap,” Steve replied. “Thanks.”

“You bet.” 

They waited in silence while she fetched them two mugs and a pitcher, and after she left, Thor poured them both a drink. “A toast,” he said, “to the ones we love. May we always be worthy of them.”

“I'll drink to that,” Steve replied. Their mugs clinked and they both drank deeply of the fresh-tasting brew. They sat quietly together for a few minutes, drinking and watching people socialize, before Steve spoke again. “So, is this the part where you warn me that Darcy's like your sister, and if I hurt her, you'll make sure nobody ever finds my body?”

Thor laughed. “Having felt the wrath of the lightning she carries in her taser-box, I think there is no need for me to make such threats.” He shook his head. “No, my friend. I know you for a man of honor, and I know that you will always strive to treat her well. But I confess that I have... concerns.” The gaze that he turned on Steve was piercing. “You are heartsick,” Thor said, his voice low. “The things you have experienced, they have caused you great pain deep inside you, and there is a wound there which has yet to heal. Sometimes this is good - as all know, a wound must bleed clear before it can be bound. But wounds like this, deep inside... sometimes they fester.”

Steve nodded. “You're right,” he said softly. “And I think this one maybe has. But I made a promise to Darcy that I would get better. That I would...” He paused for a moment, considering his words, and then continued, “...be worthy of her.”

Thor smiled slightly, nodding. “Indeed.”

“So. I can't promise to never hurt her, but I can promise to do my best.” He tipped the last of his beer down his throat. “All I can do is all I can do.”

“And that is all anyone can ask of you,” Thor replied, squeezing his shoulder. “I do not know if it will help you to know this, but I feel that you should be aware. Our compatriots are all in support of this new venture.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Run that one by me again?”

Thor grinned. “When it became known that you had accompanied Darcy to her ancestral home, our teammates and friends became quite agitated. There was much discussion about the fact that everyone thought that you disliked Darcy.”

Steve put his head in his hands. “Yeah. She thought that too.”

“I knew that you did not. I told my Jane this.” He shook his head. “You are a warrior, Steven, as I am. Even when your body was small, I am told, you had the courage and proud heart of a warrior. But the warrior's heart does not always understand the softer and gentler ways. And being a great warrior, a superior tactician, and an excellent leader does not always qualify one to be also an excellent lover. Such skills often require practice and guidance.”

Steve smirked slightly. “Boy, if that ain't a fact.”

“Fear not,” Thor replied, picking up the pitcher and refilling both of their mugs. “I believe that in Darcy you have found a most willing and able teacher.”

“Buddy,” Steve replied, “I do think you're right about that.” He raised his mug, reached deep into his memory, and dressed his tongue up in his mother's Irish brogue. “May yer glass be ever full, the roof o'er yer head be always strong, and may ye be in Heaven an hour 'fore the Devil kens ye're dead!”

Roaring with laughter, Thor clanked his mug against Steve's, and they drank to one another again more than once before the night was over.


	4. Chapter 4

The confession that forced its way out of Steve's chest during his fourth therapy session was, “I don't feel like myself.”

Burke raised one eyebrow in an expression that Steve had learned meant _I know that made sense to you, but you're going to have to explain it for those of us who aren't inside your head._ But all Burke said was, “What do you mean?”

Steve, who had been pacing by the window, crossed to Burke's desk and picked up the file that Sitwell had brought the doctor before Steve's first visit. He flipped it open, eventually finding and pulling out an old black-and-white photograph. He handed it to Burke. “That's me,” he said.

“Before Dr. Erskine's serum,” Burke replied. “Yes.”

“My whole life.” Steve shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “That was me my whole life.” He was silent for a moment. “June the twenty-second, 1943,” he murmured. “Twenty-four years, eleven months, eighteen days - if I've done the math right.” He gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Two years and twelve days later, I went into the ice. They woke me up on April the seventeenth, 2012, and I've been awake for a year and...” He paused, then waved a hand. “I dunno. Something.”

He stopped rambling for a minute, leaned against the windowsill, and caught another look on Burke's face. It was the one that said _you've just said something very interesting that I'm going to make you explore in a moment, and you aren't going to like it very much_. “The point is,” he said desperately, hoping to distract Burke from whatever it was, “I was that guy, that little skinny kid, for damn near twenty-five years. And I've only been this guy,” he waved at his physique, “for... I dunno, maybe three years? And some change? I don't _feel_ like myself.” He plastered his hands against his chest, trying to explain himself. “When I get up in the morning and I don't wheeze, when I can run for hours, when I can arm-wrestle friggen' Thor. I don't _feel_ like me.”

“The body you have is not the body you are accustomed to having,” Burke said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, waving a hand expressively.

“Tell me about the process of getting a new body.”

Steve took a deep breath. “They strapped me down to a table in a room with a bunch of equipment,” he began. “It was... with all these parts. Metal arms and things.” He demonstrated the way that the equipment had gone around him. “Then there were shots, I don't know what. Some kind of serum. And it hurt. Kind of a lot, actually.” He made a sour face. “Then the whole table closed up around me, like a big metal coffin with a little window in the front so they could see me, and they shot me up with something they called 'Vita-Rays.' Nobody knows what those were. And that.” He paused, swallowing hard, and the next words came out very softly. “I've never felt pain like that in my life before or since. I'm surprised it didn't kill me.”

“But it didn't.”

“No. And when they opened it back up...” He gestured at his torso. “And then a German spy killed Dr. Erskine and blew the place up, and I ran after him, and I've been running ever since.”

Burke tilted his head slightly. “How do you feel about your body now? Apart from the lack of familiarity, I mean. Do you like the body you have?”

“Well, sure,” Steve replied automatically. “Who wouldn't?”

Burke smiled slightly. “I can think of a number of people who wouldn't want to have your body. Off the top of my head, I'm fairly certain my wife wouldn't.”

Steve paused, considering that, and then laughed as he dropped into the chair. “Yeah, okay. You got a point,” he admitted. “Still. Yeah. It's a good body. It's better'n the one I had before, for sure. I don't wheeze, I can run up a flight of stairs without feelin' like my heart's gonna come bursting outta my chest.” He sighed. “It just doesn't feel like _me_.”

“You've been more or less constantly on the move since your... transformation,” Burke observed. “You spent time on a USO tour, then you jumped immediately into combat in Europe, and from there, your personal issues were shelved while you came to terms with your current century.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that... sounds about right.”

“Have you taken the time to actually get to know it?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I've _handled_ the merchandise, doc? Because man to man, that's pretty much the first thing I did when I had fifteen minutes by myself.”

Burke chuckled softly. “No. I'm asking you if you've taken the time to get to know your body, to inhabit it as a home, rather than as a temporary squat.”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. Whatever it is you're thinking I oughta do, probably I haven't done it.”

“Well, there are a variety of therapy techniques that we can try together. But those are really designed more for people who are suffering from dysmorphia or disconnection from the bodies they've had since birth. Your issue is different, and so I'm inclined to try a different approach.” The doctor gave Steve another look - one that asked him if he was willing.

“Hey, you're the doc,” Steve replied. “I'm game to try just about anything once.”

***

It turned out that what Burke had in mind for him to try was yoga. He gave Steve a particular set of exercises to combine with a meditation technique that was originally designed for people who'd had limbs amputated. Burke thought it might help him “get in touch with his body” and redevelop his sense of proprioception, which was probably a little out of whack. Steve thought it seemed a little weird, but who was he to argue methods if it would work? So the morning after that session, he wandered down to the gym, because Darcy had told him there were yoga mats there and had even suggested that early in the morning, as in around sixish, was the best time to hit the gym if he didn't want Tony and Clint making fun of him.

He wasn't expecting to walk in and find Jane, Natasha, and Pepper all already lined up stretching out against the far wall. The sight stopped him in his tracks. “Uh.”

Pepper looked up. “Oh, Steve. Darcy said you might be joining us today.” She gave him a smile. “There's an extra yoga mat in the cabinet if you want to grab it.”

“Uh,” he managed to say, not moving. Natasha gave him an impatient look. He wondered if there was any way he could gracefully extricate himself from this situation.

As it turned out, there was not; just as he had decided to take a step backward, an arm wound around his waist from behind. He looked down to see Darcy squinting up at him, her usual grumpy early-morning-face nowhere to be seen. She gave him a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said back, wondering when the hell this became his life.

“Come on.” She tugged on him, and he let her lead him over to the closet where the yoga mats were kept. She pulled out two of them, tossing one to him, and then guided him down to the end of the line, where she rolled out her mat and he copied her.

“Steve's got a routine he's supposed to follow,” Darcy said, and Jane asked if there was a video or what.

“Uh,” Steve managed.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “If you can't manage a complete sentence in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to punch you in the face,” she told him.

“That wouldn't be very relaxing,” said a new, masculine voice. Steve looked over at the door in surprise and found that Bruce Banner had entered the room. He was giving Steve an understanding smile. “I heard Darcy say that you have a routine?”

“It's um.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, more uncomfortable than he'd ever been before in his life and not even sure why. “Someone gave it to me.”

Bruce crossed the room and herded Steve away from the women, who were mostly finished stretching and were now just watching with interest. “Is there a physical set of instructions?” the physicist asked as he retrieved a yoga mat from the closet.

Steve dug into the pocket of his sweats and handed Bruce a folded piece of paper. Bruce looked it over and nodded. “I'm actually familiar with this routine,” he said. “It was developed for people who'd lost limbs.”

“Yeah, the, um.” Steve swallowed, his throat strangely dry. “I've been... this guy... said it might... help.”

Bruce paused, clearly working to put those disparate phrases together. Steve saw when it clicked; Bruce's eyes raked down his form and back up again once, briefly. “To reattach the changed physical form with the core of being,” Banner said, a slight smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “I understand.” He handed the paper back to Steve. “Like I said, I'm familiar. You hang onto this. And try to relax. That's the whole point of doing yoga, after all.”

He had to follow the others' lead; he understood words like _headstand_ or _supported shoulder-stand_ , but then there were words like _cat pose_ and _cow pose_ and _reclining hero pose_. And how exactly he was supposed to relax while watching Darcy Lewis stretch herself into an extended puppy pose was something that was completely beyond him. Really, it was just sort of evil.

But he found, at the end of the hour, that not only was he actually feeling like he'd had a bit of a workout, but he was also feeling like he might know where his elbows were in relation to the rest of his body. Performing the contortions required to get into and out of some of those poses was an exercise in flexibility that Steve wasn't accustomed to, and it had, as Burke had probably expected, required him to work out for himself exactly where his fingers and toes were at any given moment. As they all put their yoga mats away in the closet, Steve found himself feeling really good about himself for the first time in awhile.

Darcy gave him a shoulder bump as they all filed out of the gym, Pepper and Natasha idly discussing lunch plans in front of them and Jane and Bruce talking science behind them. “Okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. I wasn't sure at first, but... yeah.”

She smiled slightly. “I could tell. You looked a little knocked off your game when I came in.”

“I just... wasn't expecting anyone else to be there,” he admitted. “I was all wound up to do it by myself with the directions, and it kinda threw me.”

“That's okay,” Darcy said. “I thought I'd told you, but I guess I didn't. So that one's on me.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry about it,” he assured her. “Hey, you wanna go get some lunch with me today?”

“Sure. Come get me in the lab when you're ready to go.”

***

Steve had never asked Darcy what exactly it was that she did in the labs. In retrospect, he thought as the alarms went off, that might have been a mistake. Probably he should have asked, just so that he would have some idea of whether she was the sensible kind of person who ran away when the sirens wailed, or if she was an idiot like him who ran _towards_ the danger.

It turned out that in this case, she was neither. In this case, she was the innocent bystander who happened to be bringing Tony a sandwich when the Science Thing blew up.

Steve knew, intellectually, that it had a name other than Science Thing. But that name was at least four words long, two of which he wasn't sure he could pronounce, and it was entirely immaterial anyway because the really important part of whatever Stark was saying was that they didn't actually know where Darcy was.

“What do you mean you don't know where she is?” Steve shouted. “She was _right here_ _._ ”

“I know she was right here,” Tony tried to explain. “But then there was an _explosion_ , and then she _wasn't_ any more.”

Steve felt his breath come short with the beginnings of panic. “Tony,” he said, his voice very low and very dangerous, “did you blow her up?”

“No!” Tony exclaimed. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. She is not blown up. She's not even blown into another dimension. JARVIS! Darcy Lewis is still in the building, right?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS replied, and Steve felt himself relax. “However,” the AI continued, “she is not within range of any security cameras; therefore I am unable to pinpoint her precise location.”

Steve took a deep breath. This, he could deal with. “JARVIS,” he said, “where was she the last time you saw her?”

“Miss Lewis was last in visual range before entering the west stairwell,” JARVIS replied.

That was both bad and good; the west stairwell ran all the way from the roof to the ground level, and though it had no exits on the uppermost floors, it did have a few exits to an external fire escape. All of those doors were monitored, though. “Has she left the stairwell?” Steve asked. “At the roof, or to the outside?”

“No, sir,” JARVIS said. “I can state with a 99 percent certainty that Miss Lewis is still in the stairwell.”

“The other one percent is a built-in failsafe in case of random portal openings,” Tony added. That idea did not fill Steve with a great deal of confidence.

“Fine. I'm going to get Darcy. You...” Steve paused, waving a hand at the smoldering wreckage. “Fix that.” He turned and left the lab, heading down the hall at a jog. The door to the stairwell banged open, echoing up and down the shaft, but swung shut again more quietly on its hydraulic arm. “Darcy?” he called out, his voice echoing just like the sound of the door.

There was no reply, and Steve got a very, very bad feeling. He looked up and down, wondering which direction she might have run. There was no blood, so he didn't think she was injured, but she might be disoriented, and on a stairwell, disorientation could lead to falls and broken necks. He moved to the edge of the landing and looked down - and down - and down. And he spotted something. He darted down two floors and swallowed hard.

It looked like a pile of rags lying there, but he knew what it was. Cotton, lace, denim, and bright blue Converse: Darcy's pants, panties, bra, and shoes. “What the hell?” he murmured softly to himself. He gathered everything in his hands, bundling it all up tightly, and moved forward. She'd obviously come down before stripping off, but why the hell had she stripped off? He thought about that stupid Science Thing and wondered just exactly what Tony had been up to. “Darcy?” he called out again, heading down another flight of stairs. “Darcy!”

There silence but for his own echo, and he made it down another flight, and then another, passing doors in and doors out and he'd gone down almost ten floors when a sound stopped him in his tracks. It was barely anything, and if he'd been an ordinary person with ordinary senses, he never would have heard it. But to his serum-enhanced ears, it was clearly audible.

It was a sniffle.

He turned, looking back up toward the sixtieth floor landing he'd just passed. That landing, in addition to a door in, also had a door out, and on the other side of the external door, there was a tiny alcove bathed in shadow. It wasn't nearly large enough to hold an adult human - he couldn't have even hidden in it back when he was little and skinny. But that was definitely where the sound had come from. He went back up, his eyes trained on that shadowed alcove.

Sure enough, there was Darcy. She was huddled on the floor, drawn up inside her tee shirt like a turtle in its shell. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and her forehead rested on her knees, and her hair was spilling down around her in a tangle. Judging by her size, he guessed that she was about five or six.

He seated himself on the concrete just outside the alcove to make himself smaller and less threatening - and wasn't that a laugh? He waited for her to look up at him with those huge blue-gray eyes and he smiled at her. “Hi, Darcy.”

“Hi,” she mumbled.

“Do you remember me?”

She studied him for a long moment, then shrugged, looking down at her knees.

“It's okay if you don't,” he assured her. “Nobody will be mad at you.” He paused, then added, “My name's Steve.”

She looked back up at him at least, though her face was wet and sticky with tears, and she said, “Where am I?”

“Um.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. “Well, this is Stark Tower. In New York.” He paused. “Do you know where New York is?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I'm not stupid. I'm almost seven.”

“I didn't think you were,” he said quickly. “I just wasn't sure if they'd started doing geography in your class at school yet.”

She looked like she didn't quite believe him, but she scooted forward out of the alcove to get a better look at him. “How did I get here?” she asked. “I went to sleep in my room at Granny's house and then something went BOOM and then I was in that room and there was fire and smoke and that man was yelling. But I didn't do it, I didn't break the thing.” There were tears in her eyes again, sliding down her cheeks.

“No, I know you didn't, sweetheart,” Steve assured her, reaching forward automatically to wipe the tears away with his thumb. “It's okay. Tony broke his own stupid machine. He does that a lot.”

“Oh.” She scooted forward again, leaning toward him, and he suddenly realized what she wanted. He reached out and scooped her up, settling her into his lap. She burrowed against him. “You smell nice,” she murmured. “Like my daddy used to.”

His heart clenched, and he reached up, cupping her head where she was resting against him. “Don't worry, sweetie,” he murmured. “I'm gonna take care of you.”

He wasn't sure how long he sat there with her in his lap, but it couldn't have been too long before his phone beeped. She sat up when he pulled it out of his pocket, her eyes tracking it as he lifted it to his ear. “Rogers.”

It was Bruce. “Did you find her?”

“I found her,” Steve replied. “I'm going to bring her up to your lab to check her out, if you don't mind. She was pretty freaked out by all the explosions in Tony's.”

Bruce was silent for a long moment. “What aren't you telling me?” he asked.

“Nothing you won't know in just a couple of minutes,” Steve replied. “I'm on my way now.” He hung up. “Darcy,” he said, “I'm going to bring you back upstairs, okay? I want my friend Dr. Bruce to look at you and make sure you didn't get hurt in the explosion. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, clambering out of his lap (and nearly kicking him in the balls in the process).

He stood, gathering the bundle of her clothes again, and then he said, “Is it all right if I carry you? Since you don't have any shoes.”

“Okay,” she said again, holding her arms up. He caught her around the waist and lifted her to his hip; she wrapped her arms around his torso and proceeded to climb him with her toes until she was settled on his back like a koala.

He grinned. “Hang on tight,” he told her, waiting only until her grip on him tightened before starting up the stairs at a quick jog. She squealed in delight, hanging on even tighter, her skinny arms wrapping around his head, and he made very quick work of the eighteen floors between them and their destination. Once they came through the stairwell door, the hall floor was carpeted, so he swung her down onto her feet and took her by the hand. “This way,” he said. “And try not to be worried. I know it's kind of scary looking, but I'll be right here.”

“Okay.” She trotted along beside him, her eyes darting this way and that, and he wondered at her remarkable agreeableness. He wouldn't have been surprised, knowing the adult Darcy as he did, to see her pitch a huge tantrum and demand to be taken home. Instead, she seemed to be taking everything with remarkable equanimity.

Steve knocked before pushing open the door of Banner's lab. “Bruce?”

“Right here,” Banner replied, coming around a corner. “Is Darcy hurt, Steve?”

“Not - well, I don't think so,” Steve replied. He stepped to the side, letting Banner get a good look at the child who stood behind him. Her shoulder was at about the level of Steve's knee, her head hovering near his hip. Her tee shirt hung off one skinny shoulder, its hem hanging around her knees, and her bare toes twitched against the linoleum floor.

Bruce Banner stared in shock. “Well,” he said, taking off his glasses to wipe them with the hem of his shirt. “I think we can safely say that this one's a new one, even for us.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shift of POV here; I thought it might be fun to explore a bit from Darcy's perspective before moving on. Your indulgence is appreciated.

The first thing Tony said when he saw who was sitting on the table in Bruce's lab was, “Shit.”

Darcy leaned around Steve and glared at him. “That's a bad word,” she announced.

Steve bit his lip and stared at the ceiling, willing himself not to laugh. Tony narrowed his eyes at Darcy. “I can say bad words if I want to,” he said. “I'm a grown-up.”

“Grown-ups have to put a quarter in the swear jar,” Darcy advised him primly. “That's the rule.”

“I'm not much of a rules guy,” Tony replied.

Darcy glared at him even harder. “I don't like you. Go away.”

“Bad news, kiddo,” Tony replied, reaching out to tweak her nose. “I'm not going anywhere.” He did, however, jerk his hand back quickly when Darcy's little white teeth snapped at his hand, very nearly getting him. “Whoa, Rogers! You might want to muzzle your creature, there.”

“Or maybe you should learn not to touch a lady without permission,” Steve said mildly. He ruffled Darcy's hair affectionately. 

Darcy bared her teeth at Tony in what would have been a terrifying snarl if she had been slightly less adorable. “Grrr!”

Tony stared at the little girl for a long moment before speaking again. “JARVIS. Tell me you got that on video.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied.

Darcy jumped, looking around for the speaker. “Who's that?”

“That's JARVIS,” Steve said. “It's okay. He's friendly.”

“But where is he?”

“He's a computer,” Steve explained. “A really smart computer that can talk.”

Darcy canted her head to the side. “Like Terminator? My cousin took me to see that and my granny got  _ really _ mad because then I had bad dreams for a long time.”

“ _ Not _ like Terminator,” Bruce interrupted quickly. “JARVIS is a very nice computer and he is our friend.”

“Oh.” Darcy looked almost disappointed, and Steve found himself biting his lip to keep from laughing. Now would definitely not be the time for either amusement or the full-on hysterics he could feel building up in the back of his mind.

Fortunately, he was distracted by the whirlwind entrance of Jane Foster. “Hey, guys, what's going on? JARVIS said I should come up here, and...” Her voice trailed off as Steve shifted to the side so that she could see just exactly what was going on. She stared. “Darcy?”

“Hi,” Darcy said, waving one hand.

“Oh, my God,” Jane breathed. Then she spun on Tony, whacking him hard on one arm. “What did you do, you idiot?!”

“Ow! Stop hitting me with your tiny fists! It was an accident!”

“FIX IT!” Jane shrieked.

“I'm working on it!” Tony shouted back, waving his hands to try and ward off any further blows. “I'm having to fabricate entirely new parts for the machine.”

“Guys,” Steve said, his voice even, but loud enough to penetrate between the two of them. “Could you stop shouting, please? Darcy doesn't like it.”

Both Tony and Jane stopped and turned to find that Darcy had in fact climbed Steve like a tree, and was now wrapped around him as tightly as she could get, her face buried in the side of his neck. He had one arm around her back and the other under her thighs, supporting her. It was both adorable and heartbreaking. “I'm sorry,” Jane said immediately. She looked over at Tony and Bruce, then back at Steve. “Um. Is she...?” She pointed at her head.

“It's a full regression,” Bruce said, his voice calm as he reached over to touch Darcy's hand. “Here you go, sweetheart, just like I promised.” Darcy looked up, her eyes wet again, and found him offering her a lollipop. She murmured a thank you and stuck it in her mouth, then rested her head back on Steve's shoulder. Bruce gave her a gentle smile before turning back to the adults. “I'm running standard tests - blood, DNA, and so forth, just to make sure she hasn't been irradiated or anything else unpleasant, but it appears to be a full regression, both physical and mental. I'm assuming that whatever happened in the lab is reversible, given enough time to recreate the circumstances?”

“Oh, sure,” Tony said easily, waving a hand. “JARVIS automatically records all the data, so it's just a matter of rebuilding the machine, at this point.”

“Which should take how long?” Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. “Couple of days, maybe? I've got to get a new tiberium crystal - I mean, I have one, you know, I have several, but they're all in California, so I've got to get it  _ here _ .”

“A couple of days.” Steve sighed. “Okay. Well, we can manage for a couple of days, right, Darce?”

“Mmm,” she mumbled around her candy. He glanced down at her and realized that she was on the verge of falling asleep in his arms. 

“Well, you've had a rough day,” he murmured. He looked over at Bruce. “If you don't need her for anything else, I think she needs a nap.”

“Will you be okay with her?” Bruce asked.

“Sure,” Steve replied, grinning. “I used to help with the younger kids at the orphanage all the time. I can handle this.”

“Famous last words,” Jane murmured. “Good luck.”

By the time he reached his apartment, Darcy was sound asleep in his arms. He carried her to the downstairs bedroom where he slept and laid her down on the bed, covering her with a blanket and retrieving the candy that was still stuck in her mouth. He started to leave the room but stopped, his eye falling on something that sat on top of his dresser.

He hadn't slept with Major since Texas, but Darcy had apparently smuggled the bear into his duffel bag, because it had been there when he unpacked. He'd placed the bear on top of the dresser and left it there, feeling more than a little silly despite knowing what it meant - and what it must have cost Darcy to give the bear to him. He picked it up and ran his fingers across the soft fur, then carried it back across the room and tucked it into her arms. Then he slipped out of the room, pulling the door partway closed.

***

Natasha and Pepper came by about an hour later, both carrying bags full of little girl things. “Are you sure we're going to need all this stuff?” Steve asked, watching as they took over one of his upstairs bedrooms. Little dresses and shirts and pants were hung in the closet, socks and underthings tucked into one of the dresser drawers. Natasha laid out no-tears shampoo, bubble bath, kids' toothpaste, a hairbrush, several packs of hair ties and barrettes, and a Cinderella toothbrush in the bathroom while Pepper lined up a few pairs of sneakers and one pair of black patent leather Mary Janes on the floor of the closet. The bed in the room they had chosen was a twin, and he watched in some consternation as they efficiently stripped the neutral comforter and plain sheets, changing them out for rainbow-colored sheets and a white comforter covered in butterflies. A friendly-looking stuffed Hulk went on top of the pillows, and a stack of colorful, age-appropriate books was left on the night table.

“Tony said it would be a couple of days,” Pepper explained. “Knowing him, that could mean anywhere from an  _ actual _ couple of days to upwards of three weeks or more.” 

Natasha took over. “She needs to feel comfortable, and she needs to feel safe. She's already shown that she feels safe with you, and you already sort of volunteered to watch out for her. And of all of us, you and Thor are the ones with the least to do in the way of daily responsibilities. Pepper and Jane both have full time jobs, Tony and Bruce are working on fixing the problem, and Clint and I are likely to be called off to Wakanda or Latveria at any time of the day or night.”

“I don't want you to feel steamrollered, though,” Pepper said firmly. “If it's really going to be a problem, I can get a nanny in.” She paused, and said delicately, “I know the two of you are... taking things slowly. So it might be awkward.”

“No, it's fine,” Steve said. “Really. It makes sense for me to take her - like Tasha said, I've got the least to do of anyone except Thor, and she trusts me.”

“At her age, most of the really awkward things are past, anyway,” Natasha noted. “She's capable of dressing herself, taking herself to the bathroom, and probably bathing as well, though you'll want to be the one in charge of the water faucet to avoid burns.”

“You might have to wash her hair,” Pepper warned.

“That's good to know,” Steve said. He took a deep breath, then gave a slight, awkward smile. “Just call me Captain Babysitter, I guess.”

Both women laughed, and Pepper patted his shoulder. “You'll do fine,” she said.

Anything else she might have said was interrupted by the sound of a little voice from downstairs, calling Steve's name. He went out the door to the landing. “Upstairs, Darcy. Come up and say hello to Natasha and Pepper.”

Rapid thumping indicated Darcy's ascent up the stairs, and he guided her into the room with one hand and introduced her. “Pepper and Natasha brought you some things,” he said. “So this can be your room while you're here. We want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said politely, her bare toes curling into the carpet. She was carrying Major in her arms, and she squeezed him against herself shyly.

“We were thinking of going out to dinner,” Pepper said. “So maybe you want to put on some proper clothes before we go. You don't want to run around New York in just that shirt, right?”

Darcy giggled. “It would be funny though,” she said. “People would stare with their eyes and say I had bad parents.”

Natasha laughed. “They might do that anyway,” she noted. “But for other reasons. Here, now, there is clothing in the closet for you, and underthings in the drawers. You may wear whatever you like. We will wait for you downstairs.” The adults filed out of the room.

Darcy listened at the door as the grownups trooped down the stairs, then turned and looked at this room that they said was hers. Everything was very confusing. She was pretty sure she'd been kidnapped, which was a bad thing for sure, but it was weird because anytime people got kidnapped on TV, they always got locked up in gross basements or chained to walls, and the people who kidnapped them did mean things to them. These people were all very nice, and she hadn't seen any gross basements yet (though the rooms with all the machines and science things were a little scary).

She poked around the room for a few minutes, taking in the bed and the books and the friendly, stuffed green monster on the bed. She debated for a moment before placing Major carefully next to the monster and warning them to be nice to each other. Then she went to the closet, pulling the door open and looking at the clothes.

Nothing was hers, but it was all so great. There were pretty dresses and cool pants and a flouncy skirt and shirts with sparkles and glitter. She wasn't tall enough to reach them, though. She looked around the room, her eye finally falling on a plain wooden chair in the corner. She grabbed it, dragging it across the room and climbing up onto it. She pulled out the flouncy skirt - denim, with ruffles made out of a slick and shiny silver material - and a black tee shirt with a purple, sparkly bulls-eye on it. Then she dug through the dresser and pulled out a pair of panties and a pair of purple socks. After shucking the tee shirt she'd been wearing, she pulled everything on quickly, then chose a pair of white canvas shoes covered with sequins in all different colors. 

She took a quick detour into the bathroom. After going potty and washing her hands, she peered at herself in the mirror over the sink. She could just see that her face was clean, but her hair was a mess. She picked up the hairbrush and opened the bag of hair ties, poking through it until she found a set of purple barrettes that matched her shirt.

It took a moment of work, figuring out how to carry her barrettes and her shoes and her hairbrush and Major, but she worked it out by sticking the barrettes into one of the shoes and the hairbrush into her skirt pocket. Then she started down the stairs, carefully holding onto the bannister. The grownups were in the living room talking, and they looked up when she came in. Steve smiled at her. “Don't you look pretty,” he said.

She smiled back. “Thank you. But I need help with my hair and my shoes.”

“Oh, can you not tie your shoes yet?” Pepper asked. When Darcy shook her head, Pepper said, “If I'd known that, we'd have gotten you Velcro shoes.”

“I'm sorry,” Darcy said, feeling her lip tremble the way it did when her Aunt Nora yelled at her. 

“Don't be silly,” Natasha said, reaching over to take one of her shoes. “There's nothing to be sorry about. Come here, I will tie your shoes for you.”

Darcy came obediently, holding up first one foot and then the other while Natasha slipped the shoes onto her feet and tied the laces in careful knots. In the process, Natasha found the barrettes. “How do you want your hair?”

Darcy shrugged. “Just up,” she said. “It gets in my face and things.”

Natasha took the hairbrush and brushed out Darcy's hair, her movements quick and efficient but also very gentle. She parted Darcy's hair in the center, and then there was tugging and twisting, and then a clip with one barrette, then more of the same on the other side. “Go and see,” Natasha said, pointing at a full-length mirror on Steve's bedroom door. Darcy scampered over, blinking in delight at the double Dutch braids. “They're so pretty!” she exclaimed.

Natasha smiled. “I'm glad you like them.”

“Clint's gonna love that shirt on her,” Pepper said.

“I know,” Natasha replied, smiling even wider.

Darcy looked down at her shirt. “Who's Clint?”

“Clint is my very good friend, who will be joining us for dinner,” Natasha explained. “He will like your shirt because he is sometimes called Hawkeye, and that symbol on your shirt is Hawkeye's symbol.”

“Why is he called Hawkeye?” Darcy asked, coming back to them. “Does he see good?”

“He does see well,” Natasha replied. “And his good eyesight makes him an excellent marksman. He often wins contests with his bow and arrow.”

“Oh, my uncle Abe goes hunting with a bow,” Darcy said. “Sometimes he lets me shoot at paper targets. I almost hit one, once.”

Steve laughed. The sound made Darcy feel warm inside. “You should tell that to Clint,” he said. “He'd like to know that.”

“Okay,” Darcy agreed. Then her stomach growled, and the grownups all laughed.

“I guess that sound means it's time to go to dinner,” Pepper said, and Darcy did a little dance of happiness. Then Steve offered his hand to her and she took it, and they all went out of the house. Only it wasn't a house; it turned out that what Darcy had thought was a house was actually an apartment inside a much larger building. 

She blinked in surprise as she trotted up the hallway alongside Steve, Major dangling from her other hand, to find several other people sitting in a common room not far away. She recognized the people from earlier - the very nice Dr. Bruce, and Jane and Tony who had yelled at each other - and Steve introduced her to Thor, who was very big and talked funny but was also very kind, and Clint, who liked her shirt very much and made much of her, and thought it was absolutely great that her uncle Abe was a bow hunter, and promised to take her to the archery range and let her shoot a little-girl-sized bow.

And then it was time to go and eat, and Pepper and Natasha were herding everyone toward the elevator. Darcy felt a bit lost in the confusion as all the grownups started moving around her, but then suddenly there were large and gentle hands gripping her around the waist and lifting her up, and she found herself held securely against Thor's wide chest. She leaned her head back and grinned up at him, and he grinned back at her as they entered the elevator. When they stepped out on the ground floor, he swung her up onto his shoulders. She flailed for a second, nearly dropping Major, until she caught her balance. “Whoa!” she said. “You're  _ really _ tall!”

Thor laughed. “Indeed I am, little one. You will have an excellent view of the city from your lofty perch!”

“Haha!” Darcy exclaimed. “I can see better than anybody. Now  _ I _ get to be Hawkeye!”

***

Darcy got to ride on Thor's shoulders all the way to the restaurant, which made her happy in a couple of different ways. The first way, of course, was because she was riding on Thor's shoulders and he was very big and it was a lot of fun to be up that high, but also to know that his big hands were holding her legs securely and she was perfectly safe. The second way was that everyone seemed to think that everything she did was amazing and cute, which she thought was kind of strange. She was just a kid, after all. Granny and Grampa thought that she was amazing and cute most of the time, but they were supposed to; they were her grandparents. These were people she didn't even know. Maybe that was why they had kidnapped her? She was still kind of curious about that, but she was having enough fun riding on Thor's shoulders and basking in all the attention that she didn't really want to ask, because what if they changed their minds? Gross basement time, for sure.

So she said nothing, simply soaking up the attention. While they waited at a crosswalk, Jane pulled a small plastic rectangle out of her pocket, held it up, and told Darcy and Thor to say cheese. They both did, grinning broadly, and Darcy heard a click like a camera. Then Jane turned the rectangle around, and Darcy gasped. “Wow! What is that?”

“It's a phone,” Jane said, looking at Darcy like she was crazy.

“Oh,” Pepper said softly. “I hadn't thought of that. She's six. When was she six, Jane?”

Jane thought for a moment before replying, “Ninety-two.”

“Early consumer pager days,” Tony said as the light turned and they crossed the street.

“Oh,” Jane said. “I hadn't thought of that, either.” She looked up at Darcy. “This is called a cell phone,” she explained. “It makes calls just like a regular phone, and it also takes pictures and does other things.”

“That's  _ so rad _ ,” Darcy moaned.

Several people laughed softly. Tony said, “Yeah, kid, it is,” and Darcy frowned at the back of his head. She didn't like Tony very much. She had a feeling like he was laughing at her, and that wasn't nice. 

She was distracted from her enmity by their arrival at the restaurant. She squinted at the sign. “What does that say?” she asked Thor.

He glanced up at the sign and read it, but the name of the restaurant meant nothing to her. She shrugged, and was patient while he swung her off his shoulders and onto her feet so that they could go through the door. Steve was right there and took her hand, and she gave him her best smile because he was very nice. He smiled back, guiding her to walk before him into the restaurant. Inside, Tony was talking to the hostess, who went away into the restaurant. They stood around waiting for just a minute, before she came back again and picked up a stack of menus.

They followed the hostess into a little room where two servers were pushing two big rectangular tables together and then rearranging the chairs. The hostess stopped and touched Steve's arm. “Will she need a booster seat, sir?”

“Oh, um.” Steve looked down at Darcy. “Do you?” he asked.

Darcy looked at the great big chairs and the great big table and said, “Maybe. It's kind of tall.”

“No problem,” the hostess said, and she went away but came back again with the seat. It went into a chair and Steve lifted Darcy into it and it was perfect. Then it was even more perfect because there was a kids' menu and crayons and Steve sat down beside her and watched her color for a minute before joining the grownups' conversation. 

Darcy occupied herself quite cheerfully - her grandparents, while inclined to think her amazing and adorable at home, had firmly impressed upon her that children in public should be seen and not heard, unless directly addressed or in need of the potty. She spoke when the nice waitress asked her what she wanted to eat, and Steve had to read part of the menu for her, but she eventually settled on chicken tenders and broccoli. She spoke when Clint asked her about her bear, and she held up Major so everyone could see him and know his name. Otherwise, she colored quietly while the grownups talked. When the food came, she put her crayons aside and ate, focusing on her table manners and using her fork on her broccoli, though she gave up and ate her chicken with her fingers when she saw Jane doing the same thing.

And then disaster struck: Thor asked her a question and she looked up at him to answer while reaching for her glass of water, and the glass went tumbling and the water went all down the table. She gasped, reaching forward to try and stop the flood, but it was too late. Someone shouted, and everyone jumped back from the table, and most everyone started reaching for napkins to stop the flood, and a waitress came in to check on the noise and brought some towels, and everyone had to stop eating and move their plates and Darcy's face got very hot and her stomach churned and she thought she might throw up. 

This was the worst. It was really actually the worst, and she couldn't even get up and run away because she was stuck in the booster chair and it was too high to get out of without hurting herself, and besides, where would she run? She couldn't run to her room and hide because she wasn't at home, she was in New York with strangers who probably didn't think she was amazing any more, and someone was going to be mad because she'd gotten the whole table (and Clint and Steve) wet, and for a very long minute before the commotion settled down again, Darcy very fervently wished she could crawl under the table and just  _ die _ or something.

And then the waitress came back with a new drink for her, only this time it was in a cup with a lid and a straw, and it was even worse.

And then Tony said, “Well, I already have a robot named Butterfingers, we might as well have a kid called that, too,” and it was even worse than  _ that _ and Darcy, staring down at her plate in shame, very quietly began to cry.

Nobody noticed at first, but then Darcy dimly heard Thor say her name and Clint, sounding really surprised, saying, “Is she crying?” And then Steve stood up, and his hands slid into her armpits and he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room, cradling her head against his shoulder as they passed through the restaurant and then outside. Darcy knew what it meant to go outside -  _ do we need to have a discussion about this in the parking lot _ was pretty much what everybody's mom or dad said when they really meant _ it's time for a spanking  _ \- but Steve didn't spank her. Instead, he found a quiet place to sit down a little ways away from the door and he sat there, holding her close against himself until she was all cried out and down to just those sniffles and hard, hiccuppy shudders that wouldn't go away for awhile. 

Then he made her sit up and he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted at her face, wiping away the tears before making her blow her nose. “Better?” he asked softly, tucking it away in his pocket again. She nodded, looking down at her hands because it was hard to look at his face. 

“Nobody's angry at you, Darcy,” he said, his voice gentle. “Knocking over your water was an accident. It could happen to anybody.”

“But I have to be good,” Darcy protested, feeling like she might start crying again. “I don't want to go in the basement!”

He was very still for a second before reaching out and pressing his finger under her chin, making her look at him. “What do you mean, go in the basement?” he asked her, a funny look on his face that she couldn't read.

She swallowed hard, her words tumbling over themselves as she tried to explain. “Anytime whenever on TV when people get kidnapped they always go in the basement or something and it's gross and scary and I don't want to go in the basement so I have to be good because then if I'm good I don't have to go, and I can stay in my room with the butterflies.” She took a deep breath and then said, “Please?”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide, and then suddenly he was hugging her very tightly. “Darcy, no,” he murmured, his lips moving against the crown of her head. “Honey, nobody's going to put you in a basement, okay? I... I don't even think we  _ have _ a basement.” He squeezed her once, really tightly, and then he sat her back up, looking her in the eyes. “I should have explained what happened, but I wasn't sure how to, because I don't actually understand it myself. But you remember when you were in the lab, when you first came, and there was an explosion and Tony was yelling?”

She nodded, and he continued. “It was an accident. Tony's building... well, I don't know. It's a Science Thing. Some kind of machine that changes things into other things. I try not to ask a lot of questions. But it went wrong, which is not entirely unexpected, and it blew up, and now you're... here.”

Darcy's eyes narrowed at him. She could tell that there was something he wasn't telling her, but that wasn't a surprise. There were always things grownups weren't telling you when you were six. “So... I'm not kidnapped?”

He shook his head. “No. It was an accident, and as soon as Tony gets the machine fixed, he's going to fix you.”

“Oh.”

“Right.” He reached up and stroked her hair gently, straightening her bangs. “So I want you to stop feeling like you have to be perfect, because you don't. This is our mess-up, and we're going to fix it, and in the meantime think of this as like... a vacation.”

“Like sleep-away camp?”

He grinned then, and Darcy grinned back because he just looked so happy. “Yes,” he said gently. “Like sleep-away camp. Okay?”

“Okay.” She paused. “Tony's still mean, though.”

“Don't worry,” Steve said, standing up and hoisting her onto his hip on his way back to the door. “Pepper's going to make him pay for that.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting. I know the kid!Darcy storyline seemed like it came out of nowhere; hopefully this chapter will help you all sort of see where I'm going with it. :)

After Darcy's meltdown and Steve's reassurance, the rest of the evening went more smoothly. While Steve was outside calming Darcy, the rest of the group turned on Tony, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he needed to be more careful. “We know to expect it from you, Tony,” Pepper said when he started to look defensive. “But she doesn't, and she's a  _ child _ right now. A scared, confused, little child. Remember that before you speak, okay?”

Tony grumbled, but when Steve and Darcy returned and Darcy's face was clearly still tear-streaked and her eyes red, he had the grace to look a little abashed. They were able to finish their meal - even Darcy was convinced to eat one more chicken tender - before returning to the tower as the sun sank behind the buildings. Darcy made the trip back in Steve's arms rather than on Thor's shoulders, but she had small smiles for almost everyone, so that was all right.

At seven, Steve and Pepper in concert determined that it was time for little girls to be getting into bed. Darcy, who was watching Clint and Natasha demolish one another at the foosball table, whined a little bit, but when it was clear that there would be no budging on this matter, she sighed heavily and followed Steve back to his apartment. He tweaked one of her braids when she dragged her feet. “They'll still be here tomorrow for you to play with,” he assured her.

“Oh- _ kay _ ,” she moaned sadly, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye as she did so.

He grinned back down at her. “Nothing doing,” he assured her, and she sighed.

“It was worth a shot,” she said.

“Oh, sure,” he agreed. “But Pepper would be mad at me if I let you stay up past bedtime.”

She looked up at him again as he opened the front door for her. “Do you  _ always _ do what Pepper says?”

“If I know what's good for me, I do,” he replied easily. Then he nudged her toward the stairs. “Go get your pajamas out. I'll be up in a second to run your bath.”

“Okay.” She ran for the stairs. He watched her climb them and grinned slightly as she disappeared into her bedroom. 

Then he sank down on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, his smile fading just a bit. This had not been an easy day. Darcy at six, while utterly adorable, was also still a six-year-old in the middle of a very confusing situation and surrounded by strangers - friendly strangers, but strangers nonetheless. After her breakdown at the restaurant, she had seemed a little more natural, and he could tell that there was a mischievous little imp somewhere underneath the façade of a well-mannered child. He was bracing himself for when that little imp decided it was safe to come out.

He missed Darcy -  _ his _ Darcy, the adult version. The one who cooked dinners with him in mind and teased him about his old-man haircut and introduced him to the modern Broadway musical (he'd very much enjoyed  _ Wicked _ , but  _ Rent _ had been depressing as hell). The one who, after their last date - was it just yesterday? - had finally let him kiss her properly, up against the inside of her apartment door, with his hands buried in her hair and his tongue doing obscene things to hers. He closed his eyes for just a moment and he could see the look on her face when he'd released her, her glassy eyes, blown pupils, and bright red cheeks. His hands itched to hold her again.

There was a very loud bang from upstairs, and Steve opened his eyes. He'd left her alone for too long. 

He took the stairs two at a time and stuck his head into the room to find Darcy struggling to lift a chair back up into a standing position. She looked up at him with an expression of frustration. “I was trying to put it back,” she explained.

He came into the room and grabbed the chair, returning it easily to the corner. “Why was it out?”

“Because I couldn't reach the clothes bar,” she explained, pointing. “And I had to get dressed.”

“That makes sense,” Steve replied. “So tell me what you want to wear tomorrow and I'll get it out now.” She chose jeans and a Black Widow tee shirt - a quick glance through the selection of shirts showed Steve that yes, in fact, they were all Avengers-themed - and he laid them on the chair for her. “Okay,” he said. “Let's see about that bath.”

He plugged the tub, started the water, and added bubbles. Darcy stripped off with no indication of shyness or embarrassment and reached over the edge, sticking her hand into the water. Determining that it was not, in fact, too hot, she clambered over the side of the tub and plopped down into the water once he cut the faucet off. Steve grabbed another barrette and clipped her braids up to keep them out of the water, then dropped a clean wash cloth onto her upturned face. “Scrub up, Short Stack,” he told her. 

He went back into the bedroom, turning down the bed for her and poking through the stack of books on the bedside table, wondering if she'd want a story. He collected her dirty clothing, dropping it into the hamper, and grinned as he listened to her wash and then splash around and play. After about ten minutes, though, he stuck his head back into the bathroom. “About done?”

She sighed. “I guess, since there's no boats or anything.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you saying you'd like some boats for the bathtub?”

“Yes, please,” she replied, giving him that shiny grin again.

He pointed a finger at her. “You're a little con artist, you know that?” He grabbed the towel off the sink. “Come on, then.”

She stood, and he wrapped the towel around her and hoisted her out. “Do you need help with your teeth?”

“No, I can do it.” He nodded, reaching over to unstopper the tub. He watched as she carefully squeezed toothpaste onto her brush, then stuck it into her mouth and worked vigorously. He was pretty sure she wasn't actually managing the job, but he hadn't become the Avengers' tactical commander by  _ not _ knowing how to pick his battles. He simply let her do what she wanted, and when she felt like she was done, he lifted her up so that she could rinse and spit.

Once she was dry and dressed in pajamas, she clambered into bed and he said, “Do you want a story?”

“Yes, please.”

He turned on the bedside light, cut off the ceiling light, picked up the book on the top of the stack and showed her its cover. “This one look okay?”

“That's my favorite,” she said.

He smiled. “Good.” He sat down on the side of the bed, handed Major to her, and flipped the book open, and began to read. “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another, his mother called him 'WILD THING!' and Max said 'I'LL EAT YOU UP!' so he was sent to bed without eating anything.”

It was a short book, but by the time Max got home to find his supper waiting for him, Darcy was flagging. It had been a very long day for her, even with the nap she'd had, so he closed the book and set it on the bedside table and he stood, tugging the covers up to her shoulders and leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good night,” he whispered against her hair.

“Night,” she murmured back, her eyes falling closed. 

Steve cut the bedside light off. The light in the bathroom, on a dimmer switch, glowed faintly, enough that she would be able to find it if she needed the bathroom in the night. Steve paused for just a moment, watching her sleep, and then he slipped out of the room. He left the door open and made his way downstairs.

Clint was waiting for him in his living room, and he wasn't at all surprised. “She asleep?”

“She's asleep,” Steve replied, nodding. He went into the kitchen and pulled the refrigerator open. “Care for a beer?” He held out a bottle of a local microbrew he was fairly fond of.

“Thanks,” Clint said, taking it. “She doing all right, then? After earlier...”

“She's all right, I think.” Steve slumped against the kitchen counter, and Clint leaned against the opposite wall. “She thought we'd kidnapped her. She was tryin' to stay on her best behavior because apparently when people get kidnapped on television, they get locked up in 'gross basements' or something.” He shook his head. “I dunno what they were lettin' her watch on TV.”

Clint sighed. “So how much did you tell her?”

“Not much. Didn't wanna confuse her. Just told her it was an accident, and we'd fix her as soon as Tony fixes that damn machine.” Steve paused. “What the hell was he even doing, anyway?”

“Something about transduction of matter or something, I dunno,” Clint replied, taking a deep swig of his beer. “He starts with the science talk and I just stop listening. Half the time I think he's making shit up as he goes along anyway.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing for a second. “I've got a shrink appointment tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Eleven o'clock. Any chance you could...?”

“Take her to the range like I said I would?” Clint grinned. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Steve sighed. “I  _ could _ take her with me, but not into the appointment itself, and I don't wanna leave her sitting in a waiting room for an hour to get bored. God only knows what she might say to someone.”

“Yeah, I can just imagine.” Clint grimaced. “For that matter, thank God nobody ever told her to find a policeman if she was kidnapped. We could've had a problem on our hands today.”

The two of them were silent for a moment, considering that. “Maybe it'd be best if she stayed in the Tower until Tony gets this sorted out,” Steve managed.

“Yeah, I... think you might be right about that,” Clint agreed, sounding a bit strangled.

***

“My girlfriend,” Steve said, after a moment at the window to collect his thoughts, “is a six-year-old.”

“That would be Darcy,” Burke checked, and Steve nodded. “In what ways is she a six-year-old?”

“In every way that counts, starting with the fact that, right at this moment, she's literally six years old,” Steve replied. He flopped down into the wing chair. “Yesterday morning, there was an accident in Tony's lab.” He explained the whole situation, from the explosion to this morning's showdown over breakfast (“No, Darcy, you cannot have Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs for breakfast; you can have eggs and bacon, or you can have French toast”). As proof, he presented Burke with a picture of Darcy on his phone. “That's from last week, when we went to Coney Island,” he said. Then he flipped to another picture, of a sulking Darcy poking at her eggs with a fork. “And that's this morning.”

Burke flipped back and forth between the two pictures for a moment, then looked up at Steve. “I think I can honestly say that I've never had a patient with a problem quite like this before.”

Steve's laugh was strangled. “Yeah, I bet not.”

For a moment, Burke looked like he wasn't really sure what to even start asking. “How is this... working out?” 

Steve shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Pepper and Nat went out and got her some clothes and things, and we set her up in my guest room. Everybody's kind of keeping an eye out for her, but since I have the least to do, as far as day-to-day responsibilities go, I volunteered to take primary responsibility.”

“Do you know much about children?”

“I do all right,” Steve said. “I spent several years living in an orphanage, and us older kids always had to help out with the younger ones. I can tell a bedtime story like nobody's business.” He smiled slightly. “I like kids. Before... before, I always sort of expected that someday I'd get married and have kids of my own, you know? I didn't have a father, so I'd... I'd like to be a dad. And then, during the war, there was this girl, Peggy.” He paused, looking out the window for a minute and seeing an entirely different vista. “For awhile, I thought it was gonna be her.”

Burke nodded. “And since you came back, have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Steve said softly. “No, I still want to get married someday and raise a family. But everything's so different now.”

“Is it that different?” Burke wondered. “I know the buildings look different and there's new technology and that sort of thing. The surface trappings are all different. But look below that. Are  _ people _ really all that different now than they were before?”

Steve considered that for a long moment. “No, not really,” he finally conceded. “The culture's changed; people are more open, especially about sexual things. People are a lot  _ louder _ than they used to be. But they still want the same kinds of things.”

“Have you talked to Darcy about this?”

“God, no,” Steve laughed. “We've barely gotten to French kissing.”

“Maybe you should,” Burke said mildly. “Once she's back to normal, that is.”

“Isn't that... jumping in kinda fast?”

Burke shrugged. “Maybe. Then again, if what you're looking for is a serious, long-term relationship, and she's only looking for a short-term fling, wouldn't it be better to know that now?”

“Good point.” Steve chewed his lip, considering that. “I guess I'll have to ask her.”

“Has her presence affected the symptoms of your PTSD?” Burke asked.

Steve blinked. “I... don't think so.” He ran a hand through his hair, considering. “Should it?”

“Not necessarily. But sometimes it can happen. You've mentioned that you have flashbacks, nightmares, and incidents of free-floating anger. I know you said she's only been affected since yesterday, but did you experience any of those issues in her presence, or in relation to her?”

Steve shook his head. “No. In fact, I... I don't think I dreamed at all last night.”

“You slept through the night?”

“She woke me up asking for breakfast.”

Burke nodded. “I want you to try to stay aware of your moods, especially with her. She's uncertain and probably easily frightened, and she won't react to an episode the same way that adult Darcy would.”

Steve nodded in reply. “I can do that.” Privately, he thought that it might not be a bad idea to ask JARVIS to monitor him as well, just as a backup. Then he looked up in surprise as Burke leaned forward a bit and offered him a small book. “What's this?”

“It's a journal,” Burke replied. “I'd like for you to start keeping a record of your thoughts and emotions. This will help you get started.”

“What, like a diary?”

“You can keep it that way, if you'd like to. Some people keep simple text diaries of their thoughts and experiences. Other people journal through art. You can look up 'journaling' on the Internet and find a variety of ways in which people keep personal records. I think it's important for you to start now, especially since you have this added stressor in your life, because it can help you to self-monitor and watch for triggers and troublesome patterns.”

Steve nodded. “Okay. Should I... bring it every time, or...?”

“Only if you want to. This will be something that you keep for yourself alone, unless you choose to share it with me or someone else.”

Steve ran a hand over the plain black cover of the book. “Okay,” he said again. “I can do that.”

***

On his return to the tower, Steve asked JARVIS about Darcy's location. JARVIS advised him that Darcy was with Natasha in the gymnasium. With a word of thanks to the AI, Steve detoured through his apartment to drop off the little journal book, then headed downstairs to the Avengers' private gym.

The place was massive, all mirrored walls and glass partitions, with sections for everything. There was a weight lifting area, a cardio area, an area for fight training with punching bags and a sparring ring, a climbing wall, the yoga area, a small dance studio with a barre, and even an area for gymnastics training, complete with uneven bars, pommel horse, balance beam, and a variety of other equipment for which Steve did not know names. He tracked Natasha and Darcy to that area of the gym by following the sound of little girl laughter.

He rounded the corner past the dance studio's mirrored wall to find Darcy standing at one end of the trampoline floor, looking very determined. “No,” she was saying as Steve rounded the corner. “I can do it. I know how.”

“All right,” Natasha said, hopping up onto the pommel horse. “Then show me.”

Darcy nodded once. She took a deep breath, almost glaring at the open, springy floor surface in front of her, and then she burst into movement. She ran forward for several feet and then, with a sort of kick, began to cartwheel forward. Natasha nodded to herself as she watched, and when Darcy finished at the end with her hands in the air and a big smile on her face, Steve couldn't help it; he applauded.

Natasha had, of course, known that he was there; Darcy had not, and she turned in surprise to see who her audience was. “Steve!” she exclaimed, darting over to hug him tightly around the thighs. “Hi!”

“Hey, dollface,” he greeted her, leaning down to hug her back. “Having fun?”

“Auntie Nat knows how to do tumbling!”

“Yes, she does,” Steve replied, struggling to keep a straight face. “But then, apparently, so do you.”

“I can do some. Maria Bezdek can do back handsprings all the way across the floor, but she's been doing gymnastics for two years and I've only been doing it since I turned six.” She heaved a sigh. “I can do a back walkover, though, and Coach Marissa says if I keep working on it I'll get there.”

“You will,” Natasha said. “It merely requires practice and competent training. Can you do a front handspring?”

“Sort of.”

“Go and practice that, then. I will watch.”

Darcy scampered back to the other end of the floor, and Steve walked over to stand beside his teammate. He waited until Darcy was about halfway across the floor before he said, “Auntie Nat?”

Natasha scowled. “ _ Uncle _ Clint,” she said, all but biting the words off. “And now she won't let it go.”

Steve couldn't help it; he snickered. 

Natasha growled low in her throat. “Do not encourage me to invite you into the sparring ring.”

“You wouldn't hurt me in front of the kid, would you?” He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, the ones Darcy had assured him were extremely effective and should only be deployed in extreme emergencies lest she become immune through repeated exposure.

Natasha glared at him. “Your impaired-Labrador impression has no effect on me,” she assured him. 

He grinned back, turning his attention back to Darcy in time to say, “That looked really good to me, but I don't really know anything about tumbling, so...” 

“You do very well for a beginner,” Natasha said when Darcy turned to her for confirmation. “With practice, your form will improve, and then you will be excellent.”

Steve looked back down at Darcy, who was grinning broadly. “Hungry, kiddo?” When she nodded he said, “Well, I bet if you find your shoes, we could head upstairs and I could make us something for lunch.”

“Can we have cake?” she asked, widening her eyes at him in pleading.

“For dessert, after you eat your actual lunch,” he replied. “I'm not sending you home with cavities in your teeth.”

She scowled at him, but ran off to find her shoes. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “Sweet tooth?”

“She basically wanted a bowl of sugar for breakfast,” Steve replied. “I shouldn't be surprised; I've seen the stuff she bakes. That chess pie almost overloaded  _ me _ , and I burn through sugar in nothing flat.”

Natasha laughed. “Good for you for not giving in. She's quite the master manipulator. By the time I took her away from him, she had Clint wrapped around her little finger.”

Steve shook his head, grinning. “I'd say she's going to be a holy terror when she grows up, but I know her as an adult. There's nothing holy about her.”

“You like it that way,” Natasha pointed out.

Steve's grin turned shark-like. “Never said I didn't.” He took Darcy's hand as she returned to his side, and they headed upstairs to have lunch.


	7. Chapter 7

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, and was followed by a second and then a third similar day. Clint and Natasha were called out on a mission for SHIELD on the second day; Darcy was extremely disappointed not to get her archery or gymnastics lessons, but she understood that Uncle Clint and Auntie Nat had to work, and was content with having extra arts and crafts time with Steve and then story time with Thor. Bruce, Jane, and Tony remained largely holed up in their labs - not that this was unusual behavior for any of them - but Steve noticed that Darcy had a tendency to stay as far away from Tony as possible whenever he came down into the communal areas. He hoped that wouldn't continue once she was fixed; it was kind of awkward to watch Tony pretend not to have hurt feelings over her continued antipathy toward him.

On the fourth day, Steve had another appointment with Burke, and since Clint and Natasha were still gone, he left Darcy in the capable care of Thor. He went off to his appointment secure in the knowledge that Thor understood why Darcy shouldn't leave the tower, and that Thor was intelligent enough and old enough to manage a single six-year-old for the approximately two hours he would be gone.

He underestimated Darcy's powers of persuasion.

Steve returned to the tower all unawares, only to find the upper floors in turmoil. In the middle of that turmoil were Darcy and Thor, who sat on the big couch in the main common area with similar expressions of penitence, and a red-faced and shaking Pepper standing over them both, accompanied by a white-lipped and silent Jane. Steve crossed himself and entered the room. “What happened?”

“It seems,” Pepper began immediately, before Darcy or Thor could speak in their own defense, “that young Miss Lewis was  _ bored _ of being cooped up in the tower all day.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Darcy. “Really? Between the game room, the media center, and the library?”

“She wanted some  _ fresh air _ ,” Jane expanded, sounding a bit shrill. “And she managed to convince  _ this idiot _ that if she didn't get any fresh air, it would  _ stunt her growth. _ ”

Steve transferred his raised eyebrow to Thor, who shuffled his feet against the carpet and refused to meet Steve's eyes.  _ Convinced, my ass, _ Steve thought.  _ He's as much of an instigator as she is. I shoulda known better. _ “All right,” he said aloud. “So what, exactly, occurred after this astonishing feat of diplomacy?”

“Tell him!” Jane demanded, turning her furious glare on Thor and Darcy. “Tell him what you did!”

Darcy mumbled something in the vague direction of the floor. Steve cleared his throat. “What was that?” he asked. “I couldn't hear you.”

Thor squared his shoulders as though determined to take the blow for his companion. Steve wondered how many times he'd done just that for his smaller, more delicately-built brother. “We went flying,” the Asgardian stated clearly.

Steve blinked. “I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. I'm almost certain that you said something about  _ flying _ .”

Thor nodded once, firmly. “I took her flying with Mjolnir.” 

Steve felt, for a long moment, the heavy weight of everything that could have possibly gone wrong. All of the thousands of ways in which Darcy could have been injured, that the two of them could have been seen. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, letting the sheer blind, stupid panic wash over him. Then he opened his eyes. Darcy was watching him with trepidation, obviously wondering whether he was about to snap. He raised his hand and pointed down the hall toward his front door. “Darcy, go to your room.”

She sighed deeply, gave Thor the sideways look of a sympathetic co-conspirator, and then trudged down the hall. Steve waited until she was inside the apartment with the front door shut before dropping down onto the sofa beside Thor and letting it all out. First he chuffed, very quietly, to himself. Then he snickered. Then he started full-out laughing, flopping backward against the back of the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes. He laughed, hard, for a solid two minutes before finally gasping to a halt. “Oh my God,” he managed once he was able to breathe. “I hate that I missed it.”

Thor, now that he seemed reasonably certain that Steve wasn't going to haul off and punch him or something, cracked a tentative smile. “She seemed to enjoy it very much,” he offered.

“I bet she did.” He snickered once more, shaking his head, and clapped Thor on the shoulder. “Next time, I want to take video.”

Jane spluttered. “But...?”

Steve looked up at Jane and Pepper, shaking his head. “Ladies, please. Sit down.” They did, and he continued. “I can completely understand why you're upset. I really can. And let's be honest, if it had been Tony, taking her in the suit, I'd be just as furious as both of you. But it's not Tony; it's Thor. And when have you ever known Thor to be thoughtless or reckless when it came to someone else's safety? Especially that of a child?”

There was a long pause, and slowly the color began to fade out of Pepper's face even as it leached back into Jane's. “You have a point,” Pepper said. 

“Of course I do. Were there a thousand and one ways this could've gone wrong? Sure. But there's a thousand and one ways a trip across the street on foot could go wrong, too. Thor, I assume you were as careful as it's possible to be?”

“Of course I was,” Thor replied. “I bound her to my chest plate most securely, and held her with my arm as well. Even had my arm slipped, she would have still been perfectly safe.”

“Well, I'm not sure I'd go that far,” Steve said. “There's still a lot of ways this could've gone badly, not the least of which includes you being seen, but if I didn't trust you to keep her safe no matter what, I wouldn't have left her with you.”

Thor nodded. Steve turned his attention back to Jane and Pepper. “And really, what I said a second ago about Tony was a little harsh. He's reckless with himself a lot, but I don't think he'd ever be reckless with a child. Especially not Darcy.”

Pepper took a deep breath. “No,” she said, “I suppose you're right.” She turned her gaze to Thor. “I'm sorry I overreacted.”

“Me, too,” Jane interjected hastily. “I've just been so stressed out about that stupid machine and when I saw you fly past the window with her, my heart just...”

Thor reached out and took Jane's hands. “I understand,” he rumbled. “Perhaps I should have warned you of what I was planning before I did it; it should have resulted in less panic that way.”

Steve nodded. “Everyone okay?” When they all nodded, he stood. “Good. Now I get to go deal with her.”

“Steve?” Pepper asked as he turned to go, “Why send her off like that, if you're not really mad at her?”

Steve glanced back at her over his shoulder and gave a half-shrug. “Because it wouldn't be right to undermine you as a parent,” he replied. “Even if I think you're wrong, she needs to think we're all in this together, or she'll start playing one against the other.”

“You know a lot about parental psychology,” Pepper commented, impressed.

Steve snorted. “That ain't parental psychology,” he replied, grinning. “That's just good strategy. A smart soldier never torpedoes his CO right in front of her.” He turned then and headed down the hallway to his apartment, Pepper's laughter following him.

He half expected to find her in a sulking fit, but apparently she'd chosen discretion as the better part of valor; when he entered her bedroom, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, paging through a large-print copy of Disney's version of  _ Cinderella _ . She closed the book as he entered, looking up at him nervously.

He came and sat down on the end of the bed, studying her. “How long had you been sitting there with Pepper and Jane yelling at you before I got home?”

She shrugged. “Few minutes, I guess. I dunno.”

“Did you have fun?”

She canted her head at him, squinting as though he were a very interesting specimen. “Ye-e-es,” she said, drawing the word out like she wasn't sure it was allowed.

He smiled slightly. “Was it worth it?”

She nodded once. “Definitely.”

“Do you understand why Pepper and Jane got upset?”

“Because it was dangerous, I  _ know _ , but I tried to tell them, I had a harness, and it was just like a roller coaster, and I'm allowed to go on roller coasters with a grownup.”

_ Better to ask forgiveness than permission,  _ Steve thought, and he smiled slightly as he thought of his own exploits. A night flight over Nazi-occupied Europe with Howard Stark and Peggy Carter came to mind. He reached out and ruffled her hair. “Next time you and Thor get a bright idea,” he said, “wait until you can run it past me first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She canted her head the other way, giving him her sly little smile. “Does this mean I'm not in trouble?”

Steve tapped his chin thoughtfully, studying her. “First, you have to apologize to Jane and Pepper for scaring them. And I think we'll skip dessert after dinner, because you  _ did _ know full well that you were being a little bit sneaky, didn't you?”

She hunched her shoulders and looked down at the book in her hands. “A little bit.”

“Yeah, a little bit, my left foot,” he replied, chucking her under the chin. “You knew full well what you were doing.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and he had a surge of sympathy for the people who had raised her. He shook his head. “Come on,” he said. “You have some apologies to make.”

As it turned out, those had to be put to the side.

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, JARVIS spoke. “Pardon me, Captain Rogers. Mr. Stark has requested that you and Miss Lewis come to his workshop as soon as possible. And, er. Dr. Banner suggests the bringing of... alternate apparel.”

Steve glanced down at Darcy, then up again at the ceiling as almost everyone habitually did when addressing JARVIS. “He's done, then?”

“He believes so, yes.”

“Tell him we'll be there in just a minute.”

Steve retrieved a bathrobe from his bedroom; it had been hanging on the back of the bathroom door when he moved in, and he'd never used it. Darcy watched him as he came back with it. “What's that for?”

“Might be useful,” Steve replied. He reached down and her little hand slid into his - possibly for the last time, his mind whispered - and he said, “Come on. We need to get down to Tony's lab.”

Tony and Bruce were the only ones there when Steve and Darcy arrived. Darcy chirped a hello at Bruce, and offered a much quieter greeting to Tony, but the skinny engineer didn't hear her; he was waist-deep in the bowels of the newly-repaired machine. Bruce led Darcy to a spot on the floor marked with tape and said, “I need you to stand right here, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy said amiably. “What are you doing?”

“We're doing an experiment,” Bruce replied. “We need to make sure about your height.”

“Why?”

Bruce glanced at Steve, who stepped smoothly into the conversation. “Remember when I told you that Tony's broken machine is why you're here, and once he fixes it, we're going to fix you?” When she nodded, he continued, “I think he's fixed it.”

“So I'm going home?” Darcy asked. Her eyes got huge and began to grow wet. “But... but I didn't get to say goodbye to everyone! Uncle Clint and Auntie Nat aren't here, and - and -”

“Shh, it's okay,” Steve said, taking a knee beside her and pulling her into a hug. “You don't think this is the last you're going to see of us, do you?”

She sniffled. “You'll come see me?”

“Absolutely,” he promised.

“And Auntie Nat and Uncle Clint, too? And Thor and Jane and Pepper?”

“Definitely.”

She looked over at Bruce. “And you, too, Dr. Bruce?”

“Me, too,” Bruce assured her, poking at something on the side of the machine. “And even Tony, so you have someone to throw water balloons at.”

Darcy nodded, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand. “When?”

Steve smiled. “Sooner than you think,” he assured her. “I promise.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said softly. Then she said, “Sometimes, can I maybe come back? And sleep in my room with the butterflies?”

“Oh, sweetie,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You can come back any time you like.”

“Okay.”

“Need you to step back, Cap,” Tony said, “unless you're interested in what this thing'll do to you.”

Steve let Darcy go, standing her carefully back on the tape spot and stepped back. “We'll see you soon, Darcy,” he said.

Darcy lifted her chin and gave him her bravest smile. Steve glanced at Bruce across the room, silently asking:  _ Are you sure this is gonna work? _ Bruce nodded back once, firmly, and Tony counted down from five before throwing a switch.

There was a soundless explosion of green light, and Steve had to cover his eyes or be blinded. There was a sound like tearing cloth. And then there was Darcy's voice saying, “Oh my God,  _ give me that bathrobe. _ ”

He held it out immediately, without opening his eyes, and she snatched it from him. After a beat she said, “You can look now.”

He squinted open one eye, as though afraid, and she laughed at him, pushing her hair back out of her face. Standing there in his robe, with the remains of her child's clothing lying on the floor at her feet, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He couldn't help himself; he took the two steps toward her and buried his hands in her hair, his mouth slanting hot and wet over hers. Her arms came up to wrap around his shoulders and she opened to him, soft sounds of need escaping from her as he thoroughly plundered her mouth. 

When they drew apart to breathe, he kept his forehead resting against hers, reveling in the warmth of her soft, panting breaths across his face. “I missed you,” he whispered to her. “So much.”

She smiled. “You were so good to me,” she murmured back. “You're going to be an amazing daddy someday, you know?”

He smiled back. “I hope so,” he said.

She regretfully extricated herself from his arms when Tony let out a wolf-whistle, and she crouched, gathering the shredded remains of her little yellow sundress as well as the sequined sneakers she'd been so fond of. She stood, turned, and slung one of those sneakers directly at Tony's head. “Stark, you  _ idiot _ !” she shouted. “I could've been stuck like that forever!”

“Never happen!” Tony replied, ducking behind the machine before throwing the shoe back. “I knew  _ exactly _ how to fix it!”

“Get rid of that thing!” Darcy demanded, threatening him with the other shoe. “I mean it, Stark! That thing better be gone the next time I come in here, or I am taking  _ drastic _ measures!” She turned slightly then, and Bruce ducked playfully, throwing one hand up in self-defense. With a smile, she said, “Bruce, thank you for helping him fix me. I really appreciate it.”

He smiled back. “Anytime, Darcy. I'm just glad it worked and you're okay.”

Darcy took a deep breath, cutting a glance toward Steve that he couldn't quite read. “I'm going to go put on some grownup clothes now,” she said. “I'll see everyone later.” She vanished from the room, her bare feet silent on the carpeted floor of the hallway.

Steve stood there for a moment, feeling anticlimactic. Then Bruce said, “Are you going?”

He looked up. “Oh, uh. Yeah, I should... get out of your way.”

“That's - no, I mean, are you going  _ with her _ ,” Bruce clarified. 

Steve blinked at him, confused. “Oh, for God's sake, Cap,” Tony said. “That look she gave you before she left wasn't for her health, you know. Go after her, you idiot.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Steve said. He stood there for another second, feeling unaccountably stupid, and then he spun in place and took off down the hallway.

Darcy's front door was slightly ajar when he got to it, and he knocked on it even as he pushed it open. “Darce?”

“Up here.” Her voice filtered back to him from upstairs. He pushed the door shut and crossed the living room, noting as he did that the layout of her apartment was a mirror image of his own, though the decorating scheme was obviously very different. Her furniture was a hodgepodge, knickknacks were scattered everywhere, and the walls were plastered with brightly colored posters and framed collages.

She was in the largest upstairs bedroom, standing in front of her closet, still wearing his robe. She smiled at him when he stopped in the doorway. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said back, leaning against the doorframe in a move that tried for nonchalant and probably came in closer to awkward, but her smile widened at his effort. 

She moved toward him, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she murmured. 

“Darcy,” he said, his fingers tightening around hers, “I will always take care of you, if you let me.”

“You're a good man,” she told him. “And I really want you to kiss me again like you kissed me a minute ago.”

“I can do that,” he assured her, and proved it. This time, there was no Tony to catcall and no Bruce to be embarrassed, and Steve didn't release her when she needed to breathe; instead, his mouth moved from her lips to the edge of her jaw and he followed it up to her ear, then began blazing a trail down her neck, loving the sounds that she made with every hot, wet press of his lips and tongue against her skin. 

And then her hands moved between them, and the robe she was wearing fell to the floor. He drew back slightly, staring down into her eyes. “Darce,” he breathed against her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” she whispered. 

He buried his hands in her hair again, and for a long time after that, they didn't talk much.

***

Later that evening, they made their way down to the common kitchen to see about dinner. It was Bruce's turn, which usually meant delivery from some exotic restaurant, but that night, he'd ordered in Italian. Clint and Natasha had apparently just gotten back, as well, because as Steve and Darcy entered, hand in hand, they were both just sitting down at the table.

Darcy's sated, sleepy grin turned wicked, and she eased up behind Clint before throwing her arms around his shoulders. “Hi, Uncle Clint!”

The archer squawked in surprise, dropping his fork, and then turned, his eyes wide. “Darcy! You're fixed!”

“I'm fixed!” she replied, laughing as he hugged her. She ruffled his short hair before releasing him and heading back into the kitchen to accept the plate Steve was loading up for her, then returned and seated herself next to Natasha. She elbowed the redhead. “Auntie Nat.”

Natasha gave her a sideways look, but there was no heat to it, and Darcy just grinned. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Both of you.”

“Anytime, Darce,” Clint replied, and Natasha hummed in agreement. Then the subject was dropped - until Thor came into the room and saw her.

“Darcy!” he exclaimed. “You are restored!”

“I am!” she replied, accepting his warm hug and returning it as well as she could from her seated position. “Thanks for taking me flying!”

His booming laugh filled the room. “You are most welcome! It was an enjoyable experience for us both.”

“Yeah, only now I'm in all kinds of trouble,” Darcy replied, winking at him before looking slyly at Steve. “I'm not allowed to have dessert after dinner.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” Bruce said, grinning. “I got tiramisu because I know how much you like it.”

“Then I'm having dessert anyway,” Darcy said, and she gave Steve a filthy little grin. “Guess I'll just have to have a spanking instead.”

He pointed his fork at her. “Don't tempt me.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at him until he leaned over and kissed her. They shared a piece of tiramisu after dinner was over. And then they disappeared again when nobody was looking, and neither of them was seen again until the next afternoon.


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes, in his dreams, he's fast enough.

He's fast enough, he's strong enough, he's smart enough, he's _enough_.

In those dreams, Bucky doesn't die, the plane doesn't crash, Schmidt doesn't escape, he doesn't freeze and drown at the same time.

Those dreams are the worst ones.

He prefers the nightmares. He prefers the ones where he relives Bucky's fall, the sound of Bucky's screams, over ones where he's able to reach, able to grab, able to pull his friend to safety. Because when he dreams that he's enough, he has to wake up to the realization that he's not.

***

Bucky had a sister.

Not many people know that. She was younger, married at sixteen to a husband who took her down South and wasn't interested in letting Bucky tag along (even if Bucky had been interested in tagging, which he wasn't.) Her name was Rebecca.

When Bucky fell, Rebecca got a letter. The Army would have sent a telegram, but Steve refused to allow it. Not for Rebecca, and not for Bucky. He sat down at a table with a sheet of paper and a pen and he did the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. When he was done, he folded the letter up and put it in the mail, and then he tried (again) to get completely shitfaced. It didn't work any better than it had the previous times.

_Dear Rebecca,_

_It is with a heavy heart that I write you this letter to let you know that your brother, Sgt. James B. Barnes, is missing and presumed killed in action as of October 29, 1944._

_As his mission was classified top-secret, I cannot tell you the details of his passing. What I can tell you is that Bucky died as he always lived: a hero. He gave his life for something he believed in, hoping to keep others safe from the tyranny that we all fight against over here._

_Please know that I share in your grief. Bucky was as close to me as any brother could have been, and as you know, was the only family I had after my mother's death. I mourn his loss as you do. If there is ever anything that I can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me._

_Yours most sincerely,_

_Cpt. Steven G. Rogers, U.S. Army._

Nearly two years later, lying sleepless in bed with Darcy's head cradled on his chest, Steve could still recite that letter word for word, still see the text of it in his own painfully neat handwriting, stark and black on the page. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to forget it.

It wasn't always flashbacks that kept him awake; it wasn't always nightmares that robbed him of his sleep. Sometimes it was the simple act of remembering. Sometimes it was simply rage.

Rage at himself, rage at the world, rage even at Bucky, blameless as he was, for dying and leaving Steve all alone. The night after Darcy was fixed was one of those nights. He lay in bed, the sweat of exertion cooling on his body, her lithe form tucked up against his right side, her warm breath curling across his bare chest, and he was filled with rage because it was wrong, all of it was wrong, and Bucky should never have died and Steve shouldn't even be there, because there was Peggy and he was supposed to have a date.

He felt it building inside him, that rage that simmered for days and days until some innocent bystander - like Darcy - took the brunt of it. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, trying to force that feeling down, but it wouldn't go away; it got bigger and bigger until he felt like it might choke him to death, and all he could see behind his eyelids was Bucky's face.

He forced himself to take one long, slow breath - in through the nose, out through the mouth, as Bruce had taught him - and then he shifted, carefully lifting Darcy's head off his chest and laying her on the pillow. She snuffled in her sleep, curling up into herself as he slipped out from between her sheets and dressed quietly. He took a moment to leave her a note - _couldn't sleep, gone down to the gym, be back, SR_ \- and then he slipped out of her apartment and made his way downstairs.

One good thing about having a gymnasium that took up an entire floor of the tower was that if you needed to blow off steam, there was a way to do it. Steve entered by the door near the yoga area, walked past the cardio section and the tumbling floor. He passed the sparring ring and the heavy bags, ducked into the locker room to change into his spare sweats and a sleeveless tank. When he came out, he crossed the floor and pushed a secondary door open.

When he'd finally agreed to move into the tower, Tony had brought him on a tour of the Avengers' floors, showing him all the amenities he'd built, and asking if Steve could think of anything else. After seeing this room, Steve had to admit that he was fairly certain Tony had thought of everything. The obstacle course was about half the size of a football field and designed to simulate a combat zone, including pop-up civilians and unfriendlies. It could be configured for any of the team's major weapons: Thor's hammer, Natasha's guns, Clint's arrows, Steve's shield, or Tony's suit.

It could also be configued for hand-to-hand fighting, and that was what Steve asked JARVIS for now. Deep inside the course, Steve could hear pneumatic hisses and mechanical clanks as the equipment shifted and set, and he took a moment to run through a few warm-up stretches. Then JARVIS said, “Would you care for a soundtrack, Captain?”

Steve blinked. “A soundtrack?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has recently added a variety of options. One track simulates the sounds of a battle zone, for a more realistic experience. Another track offers what Mr. Stark calls 'angry music.' There are other options as well.”

Steve thought about it for a second. He wasn't sure he wanted the sounds of a battle zone; the full-immersion experience might be a bad idea, when he was already dealing with the rage issue. He wasn't too sure about angry music, either, but he gave himself a mental shrug. He could always ask JARVIS to turn it off, if he didn't like it.

“Sure, okay,” he said. “I'll take the angry music, please, JARVIS.”

“Very good, sir. The course is ready when you are.”

“Thanks.” Steve placed himself at the starting mark and took a deep breath, considering how best to begin. He blinked when he was surrounded by the sound of a man's whisper.

_Let the bodies hit the floor_  
 _Let the bodies hit the floor_  
 _Let the bodies hit the floor_  
 _Let the bodies hit the_  
 _FLOOR_

The explosion of rage that was the last word send him exploding into action across the course, up and over a pile of debris, where he paused for a moment to scan his surroundings. Tony's robots reset the course every time it was used, so it was different now from the way it had been the last time he'd been here. He took it in, searching for the enemy, and launched himself at the first one, fists swinging.

It was good. His mind shut down as the adrenaline of combat overtook him, supplemented by the pounding of the music and the fury of the lyrics. He told that part of his mind that did all the thinking to shut the fuck up, and he just _felt_ , raging his way across the course and killing every enemy he could find. He didn't notice when his mind began substituting HYDRA agents for the blandly menacing generic-villain opposition he was facing. He didn't notice when he started bleeding, or what he'd hurt himself on. He didn't notice when he burst through a doorway and screamed Bucky's name.

He didn't notice when the door from the gym proper opened, or when the music shut off. He heard someone shouting his name, but it sounded like Bucky, and he turned, tearing through drywall and piled-up cinderblock looking for him.

He didn't turn in time to see the figure who raced up beside him, body-slamming him to the ground in a clear space. He struggled against this new, unexpected enemy, fighting and clawing, but his enemy was much larger than he, and fresh where he was tired, and after a moment of useless grappling, the enemy simply reached out and clamped a huge, meaty hand on his neck, slowly constricting his airway. He struggled more, but it was useless, and the edges of his vision began to grow dark. He struggled, focusing on the face of his opponent and as pinpricks of false-light began to form in front of his eyes, he managed to choke out one word. “Thor?”

Thor immediately eased his grip, though he did not release him completely. He waited as Steve sucked in one painful breath, and then another, and then Thor released him as he rolled onto his side, coughing. The Aesir remained in place, kneeling beside Steve as his body was wracked first with coughs, and then with sobs. Thor stayed where he was, one huge hand resting warmly on Steve's shoulder, and he waited until Steve had cried himself out before saying, “Come; it will do neither of us any good to remain here. Let us go and have a cup of something warm, and talk.”

They detoured through the locker room, where Thor made him shower and change, before they went back upstairs. The common kitchen was empty, and Steve followed his teammate quietly, taking a seat at the counter while Thor dug through the cabinets for mugs and a kettle. “Now is not a good time for any stimulant drinks,” he said simply when Steve cast a glance at the coffee maker. Then he set the kettle on to boil, ducked into the pantry, and came back with his wooden box of Asgardian spices and things.

With a low rumbling sound that Steve belatedly recognized as tuneless humming, Thor pulled out one set of packets and split the contents between the two mugs on the counter. He waited for the kettle to whistle, poured the water, and then pulled out two more items that looked rather like cinnamon sticks, popping one into each mug. He handed one of the mugs to Steve, then idly began stirring the liquid in his own with the not-cinnamon. Steve did the same, watching as the water quickly took on a soft yellowish color, and then he took a sip of the mixture.

The first thing he noticed was the taste, which was like chocolate but not, in a strange but not unpleasant way. And then, slowly, the warmth of the drink began to flow through his body, relaxing muscles he hadn't even known were tense. He sighed softly, slumping into his seat, and Thor smiled slightly as he leaned against the counter. “It's good, yes?” the Asgardian said. “It is called _kovva._ My mother used to make it for us, when Loki and I were small.”

“It's delicious,” Steve said honestly.

They sat there sipping their drinks for a long minute before Thor spoke again. “When we were young,” he said, not looking at Steve, “my brother and I were explorers. We would escape from our tutors and go out into the city to see what our world had to offer. Sometimes we would steal horses from the stables and go ranging far into the wild lands to see what we could see.” He paused, smiling slightly. “Those lands, of course, are as tame as any can be on Asgard, but _we_ did not know it at the time. We were boys, playing at being giants. We would swim in the rivers and run in the meadows and all the time, the sun would shine down upon us and I can recall thinking that these days were so beautiful that they could not possibly ever end.”

He paused, swallowing hard, and he looked down into his cup. “But we grew up, as boys do, and we became men, and somewhere in the doing of that task, everything went wrong. I grew arrogant and self-assured, and Loki grew cold and distant, and I did not realize it until it was far too late. And now,” he finished, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “my brother is dead.”

Steve swallowed hard, but did not speak.

After a moment, Thor looked up at him again. “I would tell you of him, if you would hear what I have to say.”

Steve nodded, and Thor took a deep breath. “He was brilliant,” he said softly. “Far, far more intelligent than I. Oh, I am a warrior, and I have no doubts in my own abilities upon the battlefield. I am no idiot, either; I am versed in the histories of my people and on our laws and other such things. But Loki.” He shook his head. “Loki's mind is so gifted, sometimes I thought he could contain entire universes in a single thought. Some called him Loki Silver-tongued, for the skill that he had with words. He could have talked the birds down out of their trees if he was of a mind. When I tell you that Loki was brilliant, I mean it. He was _brilliant._ But that was never enough for our father, and to this day I know not why. I know only that as we reached adolescence, it seemed that Loki could never do anything exactly the way Father wanted, or be exactly what Father sought. Whatever he did, whatever he was, it was just slightly wrong.” He shook his head. “I never could have guessed that Loki would turn out to be Laufey's son, and I will never understand why my Father instilled in us both such a hatred of the Frost Giants, knowing Loki's heritage.”

He was silent for a long time, and Steve realized that he'd said everything he planned to say. So he swallowed hard, took another sip of his drink for courage, and said, “My brother's name was Bucky.”

He told Thor everything he could think of to tell him, starting with the way they met, on Steve's second day at the orphanage, when Bucky got between a mouthy, skinny, wheezing twelve-year-old and somebody's fist. How Bucky had taken care of him for so many years, from having his back in any fight Steve picked to shouldering most of the load when Steve couldn't get steady work that paid enough to keep soul and body together. How Bucky had gone off to war and Steve had been so jealous, so desperate to be half the man that Bucky was that he'd gone off and gotten himself juiced up, and how he'd saved his friend from a Nazi torture chamber only to lose him over some godforsaken mountain range.

Then he told Thor how every time he closed his eyes, he saw Bucky's face. How, over and over, that familiar visage flashed through his mind, like a movie reel that he couldn't shut off. How he felt helpless, hopeless, worse than useless. How he dreamed about being enough only to wake up and discover that he wasn't. How real life was the nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He wanted to cry, to sob, to rage and scream and claw at the world, but as he finished speaking, he suddenly found himself feeling... hollow. Empty, like he had been sliced open and drained out of everything that was inside him.

He looked up at Thor. “So I'm... a little fucked up.”

Thor nodded gently, silent for a long moment. Then he said, “You have been speaking with a healer of minds. One of the doctors who seeks to repair wounds of the soul.”

“We call them psychiatrists. Or counselors. But yeah.”

Thor nodded. “Does it help, telling this man of your suffering?”

Steve took a deep breath, thinking about it. “Sometimes,” he said finally. “Sometimes not. He says it might get worse before it gets better.”

“And have you told him about your dreams?” Thor asked, his gaze seeming to pierce Steve all the way through to his core. “Have you told him what you just told me?”

Steve's silence was apparently all the answer Thor needed. The Asgardian drained his cup, chomped down on the not-cinnamon stick in two bites, and placed the mug carefully into the sink. He ran some water into it, then turned and faced Steve. “If I were injured in battle,” he said, “and I sought the assistance of a healer, but allowed that healer only partial access to my wound, you would rightly call me a fool, would you not?” When Steve nodded, he continued. “And if my healer gave me instructions for the proper care of my wound, that I might become whole again, and I did not follow those instructions, you would again and still rightly call me a fool.” Steve nodded again. Thor stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Then what shall I call you, my friend, when I see you doing the same thing?” With those parting words, the Asgardian turned and left the room.

Steve sat there for a long time, staring into his cup, thinking about what Thor had said. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that it was not for nothing that Thor was the heir to his father's throne.

He drained his own cup, putting it into the sink with some water, and munched his own sweet not-cinnamon stick as he made his way back upstairs to Darcy's apartment. She was still asleep when he slipped between the sheets, but she turned toward the warmth of his body and snuggled up against him, murmuring his name as she wrapped her arm around his stomach. He lay there staring into the darkness for some time, turning Thor's words over and over in his mind. Eventually, sleep overtook him.

For once, he did not dream.

***

He got an appointment with Burke late that morning. When he walked into the room, he sat down in the chair, leaned forward, and rested his head in his hands. Burke said nothing, merely waited for him to find his words. He closed his eyes against the view of the city, searching, and then he opened his mouth, and the words came out of him just as they had in the darkened kitchen with Thor.

“My brother's name was Bucky,” he said. “And I first met him when I was twelve years old.”

***

When he came home, he was carrying a blank canvas under one arm and a bag from a local art supply shop in the opposite hand. He texted Darcy that he was going to miss their afternoon history session but would be in his apartment if she wanted to stop by after work. Then he tossed his cell phone onto his couch and dragged his easel downstairs, parking it beside the windows for the best light. He grabbed a small pedestal table and stood it beside the easel, stacking several small packages on top of it. Then he set up the canvas and clamped it.

He started with the pencils, opening the brand new package, sharpening the lightest one, and roughing in the shape of a face. Once the oval was on the canvas he just _drew_ , pausing only to pull a new kneaded eraser out of its plastic packaging. Pencil in one hand, eraser in the other, Steve worked quickly but carefully, roughing in eyes, nose, that smirking mouth, one ear, the suggestion of a curl of hair.

At a sound, he looked up and saw Darcy coming through the door. He smiled at her. “Hey, doll.”

“Hey,” she replied, dropping her bag on a chair and coming around to see what he was working on. “Oh, who's that?”

He reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “That's Bucky,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In anticipation of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ coming out this weekend, I have decided to end this story here, on some agonizing Bucky!feels. Because we all have Bucky feels, and I expect that I shall cry rivers at this movie. When I begin the next arc, I also expect that it will be with some attempt to fuse the events of CA:TWS into this story. Unless it just breaks me, in which case, all bets are off. 
> 
> I want to take this chance to say a sincere thank you to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos on this fic. I want you all to know that I really, _really_ appreciate your support and your kind words, and I'll do my best to keep bringing you good things to read. As soon as this movie gets done crushing my soul.
> 
> Also, if you don't know what song it is that Steve rages to, it's Drowning Pool's _Bodies_ , and you can find it on YouTube.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic) Healing Process](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482028) by [secondalto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondalto/pseuds/secondalto)




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